I Don't Feel Enough For You to Cry
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: UPDATED SEPTEMBER 17TH! Cloud never thought that Sephiroth could die. Of course, he also never thought that the other might be anything other than his own darkness.
1. Goodbye

**Kingdom Hearts II**

**I Don't Feel Enough For You to Cry**

**By LuckyLadybug**

**Notes: The characters are not mine, and this story is. It's going to be more than one chapter, but probably not very long overall. It's more a character study than anything. And the whole thing was inspired by the song _Room of Angel_ from the _Silent Hill 4_ soundtrack, particularly the chorus. Also, this follows my _Kingdom Hearts_ ideas, but only _The Darkness Will Rise From the Deep_ really needs to have been read to understand this.  
**

* * *

** Chapter One**

I've been looking for you again.

You always seem to disappear when I'm trying to find you the most. I don't know why. Maybe just the irony of life, but more likely, it's one more way you're trying to torture me. You get a kick out of doing whatever you can to make that happen.

Today I decided to look around the outskirts of Hollow Bastion and the surrounding area. I've looked before, but for some reason, this time I thought I might actually have some luck. I haven't seen you since our last battle. And I still want some answers about what happened then, even though I know you'll probably never tell me.

The scent of blood was strong once I got to the infamous blue canyons, where we've fought in the past. The red patches were splattered over the ground, and here and there I found dark blue feathers mixed with it. I knew you were there, somewhere, and my thoughts tumbled over each other as I continued to move forward.

_Is this blood yours? If you're part of me, and you're hurt, shouldn't I feel it, too? I don't feel it at all, only a numb apathy. Are you alive? Are you dead? Does it really matter to me? It shouldn't._

I ran around a corner, only to have my path blocked by something I'd never seen before today. It looked like a dragon of some kind, vicious and hideous. It was laying on its side, several deep slices in the brownish-gray flesh. Its leathery wings were limp, hanging to the ground, and they also were torn. It looked like the work of a sword. _Yours?_ I wondered.

There were several large, royal blue feathers between its claws, and both the feathers and its talons were bloodstained. This thing had obviously put up a strong fight against whatever, or whoever, it had been battling. I had the feeling that the other party would be in just as bad, or worse, condition.

The creature's face looked like something copied from the gargoyles at the old cathedrals. There were large flaps of skin on its cheekbones and around its half-open mouth. Its sharp teeth were visible too, mostly clenched. Blood was dripping from between them, down its jaw, and to the ground. The red eyes were lifeless and blank. I don't know why, but it seemed haunting in some way. I stayed there for a moment, just looking at it.

It was a weak, pained groan that snapped me back to the present. I looked around for the source, unable to pinpoint it at first. It sounded more human than beast, and I started to walk around the dragon's large form. More feathers were scattered about near its shoulders, in a puddle of blood. I looked up slightly. There was a trail of red across the blue stones. In some places, it was badly smeared and streaked, as if the victim had been dragged and thrown. I gripped tighter at the hilt of my buster sword, glaring at the morbid crimson paint. I've seen a lot of unpleasant things, but mauled bodies are some of the worst.

I walked alongside the trail for several feet. There was a form laying in my path, and I was no longer surprised to realize that it was yours. Amid all the blood, I somehow still recognized what was left of your wings, and your long hair. I stuck the sword into the ground, kneeling down beside you. That's where I still am now.

All three of your wings are out now, but while the largest on your right, and also the lower left one, are both spread flat, the lower right is ragged and curled over itself. I can see it's badly torn and damaged, probably even crushed. Your lower left one seems fine, but the one sprouting from your shoulder is also torn, though not as seriously.

Your chest has also been clawed. Three long, deep slashes are across it, the blood spilling generously over your torso and arms, and to the ground around you. Your right arm is half over your chest, as you grip a wound in your left side.

Your breathing is ragged and pained, and slowing even as I'm watching you. You seem to sense I'm here. You look up at me, your green eyes clouded over and blank. Do you know me at all? Not that I care. But it doesn't seem real, to see you like this. In spite of how I hate you, it doesn't seem right, either. You've been reduced to such a helpless, pathetic thing.

This isn't an illusion this time, meant to test me for whatever reason. You're mortally injured, and there's nothing that can be done about it. It wasn't done by my hand, but it doesn't matter. I'm not sad at the thought of your imminent passing; I'm not happy, either. I feel as blank as your eyes look right now. I wasn't expecting to find you like this, not until I saw the first of the loose feathers a while ago.

I don't know that I even thought something like this could happen to you. Obviously you came out the victor in the battle with that thing, but previously, you always seemed to be unscathed and untouchable. Only in our fights did you ever end up hurt at all. Until now. And even our fights were never like this.

You blink, and something changes in your eyes. They widen ever so slightly, and I get the sense you know now who's with you.

"Sephiroth . . . what happened?"

I'm surprised at myself for speaking. I hadn't intended to. I'd planned to sit in silence, watching the life slipping from your mauled and battered body. But for some reason, my voice found its way out of my mouth, instead.

You grunt, and your lips part slightly. "Isn't it obvious?" you choke out. Blood drips from your mouth as you speak, trailing down your face and onto your neck. "I've never seen anything . . . like that. . . ."

I haven't, either. It's worrisome---though I have to admit, not foremost on my mind right now. "Is it a new threat to Hollow Bastion?" I ask. Not that you'll know the answer, or should be talking anyway. But can you really die? That doesn't seem possible, and yet on the other hand, how could you or anyone ever recover from something like this?

"Probably. . . ." You fall into a coughing fit, the agony obvious on your face. Your left hand flies to your chest, clutching the deep wounds as you choke on the blood in your throat. It doesn't give me any satisfaction, to see you like this. I want to say that I don't feel anything. But my stomach twists in spite of it. It must be because I've never seen such a gruesome sight before now.

"I thought you said you couldn't die, if I don't," I say, looking down at you with what I think is an emotionless expression.

Something flickers in your eyes, as if you feel you've been caught. Then you smirk weakly, in a self-depreciating way. "Maybe I lied," you say.

Now your eyes narrow. "Don't look at me like that. I don't need your pity."

Pity? I don't pity you! I don't feel anything for you. I'm feeling sick, but it has nothing to do with you.

I reach out, carefully pulling back your unbuttoned coat from your chest as your bloodied hand falls again to the hard ground. These tears in your flesh are deeper than I'd even thought at first. There's nothing I can do about them. They're too serious. Maybe a professional healer could still help you, but there's no one around---only me. I could never carry you as far as we would need to go, or even at all. You're bigger than I am, not even including your wings. It would probably hurt you worse if I tried.

You're just watching me now, too weary to speak. You seem to know what I'm thinking, but I can't tell if you're surprised by it. The look in your eyes tells me it's too late, that you're going to die. And I've already known that's true. I can't help you. Not that I really want to. But if I knew a way that I could, I don't know that I'd refuse, even though it's you. I'm not so dishonorable as that.

You look like you want to speak again, but you can't. I can only watch as the recognition in your eyes dims again and then vanishes completely. Your eyelids fall shut wearily, and with finality, and your breathing stops. I'm left with your dead body.

I just sit here for a moment. I'm not sure I even fully understand what's just happened. You're not supposed to be able to die. Then again, that's only what you've said. How can I believe anything when it comes from you? You've always been a liar, even though you tell me you aren't.

I lean down, trying to hear if there's still any hint of breath. I can't make anything out. I place my hand over where your heart should be. I can't feel anything, but then again, what am I doing? Do you even have a heart? If you're part of me, wouldn't that be impossible? Wouldn't you share my own heart?

I don't understand. I don't feel like there's a part of me that's missing, as it seems I would if you were really the physical manifestation of the darkness in my heart. Sometimes you acted like I was the only one who believed that to be true, even though at other times, you said yourself that it was so. I wonder if you were lying again. I'll never know now.

Who were you?

"Well, my stars! What happened here?"

I look up with a start. I wasn't expecting anyone to show up out here, but it's that magician Merlin. He's walking around that dragon, looking both fascinated and bewildered. I guess not even he's seen it around before now. That doesn't boost my confidence any.

He doesn't seem to have noticed me yet. He's too caught up in trying to figure out what the monster is and where it could have come from. I look down at your corpse again, then back up at the old man. "Hey!" I call. I'm not even sure why I am. "Merlin!" Maybe I just don't want to get stuck out here. Merlin could get me back to town quickly.

Now he starts. Blinking, he whirls around and stares at me, then you, as if trying to decide what to make of it. "Cloud!" he exclaims as he runs over, still gaping. "What on earth happened?"

I tell him what I know, which isn't much. All the while, he examines you, seeing the extent of your wounds and checking you for life. I can't tell what he's thinking, but I rarely can. It's weird, though, how he kinda seems like he knows something about you that I don't. I know he's proved that he's smarter than he sometimes acts, but how would he know anything about you? And what is there to know right now? You're dead.

He looks up at me again, and now he looks more serious than he usually does. "This man is still alive," he announces.

What? That's impossible. I saw you die. I checked to see if you were still breathing, and you weren't. You aren't. What's Merlin talking about?

"No one could survive that!" I exclaim, pointing at the worst of your injuries. "All the blood loss, not to mention the shock to his system. . . . I don't even know how long he'd been laying there before I found him!"

Merlin holds up a hand for silence. "There are some people strong enough to even survive furious assaults like this. He may be one of them." He frowns, gazing down at you again. Maybe he's having second thoughts and sees how foolish his words are. But he looks back to me. "Only with a lot of care will he ever have a chance. I could provide him with the doorway to that chance, but the rest would be up to him . . . and you, perhaps. He would need somewhere to stay while trying to recover."

What is he suggesting? I can't keep you at my place. I don't want you there. You cause me enough grief as it is. Why should I even care whether you live or die right now? Part of me wants to just leave you, or to tell Merlin to find someone else. But there really isn't anyone else, is there. No one would take you in. I shouldn't, either. I hate you! I hate everything you've done to me!

. . . I wonder, would you tell me that it's I myself who's brought my grief on myself? You probably would, and then tell me you were telling me the truth if I accused you of lying. And after what happened following our last battle, I honestly don't know what to think about you anymore. I don't know why you were testing me, or why you said that stuff about me having to conquer my darkness myself. You'd probably never tell me, even if you're still alive and you do still pull through.

There's a saying I've heard sometimes. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer." I guess that's what's influencing my decision right now. Even so, I'm sure I'm going to regret this later.

I look at Merlin. "Alright." I give a slow nod. He looks pleased.

My fate is sealed. What about yours?

I guess I'm going to find out.


	2. It Was Always You I Despised

**Notes: And the shameless and clean hurt/comfort continues. Merlin was lots of fun to write. And I love Cloud's sarcasm!  
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* * *

** Chapter Two**

Suddenly the scenery changes. Now we're in a dark, familiar room, sparsely furnished. There's only a bed, a chair, a few boxes, and a chest of drawers that's missing one drawer and has two more that are broken. Only one other compartment in it works the way it should. The curtains are drawn, but that doesn't matter much, since it's night. I straighten up, reaching for a nearby lamp. It's old and rusted, but it still works. The dim light stretches over the room, giving your pale face an eerie cast.

You're laying on the hard wood floor, still motionless. Do you even know your location has changed now? Do you know you're in my house? Would you care? I still don't like this idea. You shouldn't be here. And what can even be done for you?

Merlin looks up, examining my bed. It's only a mattress and the box springs, with the quilt rolled into a makeshift pillow and a worn sheet hanging half to the floor. He quickly arranges it properly, sees the other comforter tossed on the chair, and then nods approvingly. Apparently he thinks it's good enough.

He glances to me with a raised eyebrow, seeing that I'm just standing here. "I can't lift him myself!" he scolds. "Are you going to help me, Cloud?"

I look down at you, frowning, and then bend down to take hold of you under your arms. I guess it can't be helped.

It's harder than I thought it would be, with your wing in the way. First I try to reach over it, but that doesn't work, so I have to try putting my arm under it. Your wing rests on my arm, blood dripping down onto it from the tear. I try to ignore it, and I grip you, starting to lift your upper body off the floor.

You're limp, your head falling back against my chest. Why does Merlin think you're alive? You can't be. Your body is entirely still, moreso than would be normal in sleep or even unconsciousness.

The blood from your chest drips onto my hands as Merlin gently grips your legs. Together we hoist you onto the old mattress. I pull away, bumping your wing by accident. You don't react, of course.

I wipe my hands on my pants. I don't want your blood on my skin. "So now what?" I ask.

Merlin looks at me incredulously. "What do you think?" he retorts, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Boil some water!" With that, he bends over you, his hand glowing as he lays it on your forehead. Is he trying to heal you? Or maybe to just wake you? Or something else? You still don't respond. And you're not going to. Suddenly this seems like one big joke.

"Are you sure he can even be saved?" I demand. I can't stay quiet any longer. We're trying to help a corpse! What's the point? "He's dead! Look at him---he's bled to death, and even if he hasn't, the severity of his wounds killed him! You can't save him, Merlin! No one can!" How is this even worth our time? Merlin should know what he's doing, but this is seeming more and more like the fantasies of an old man. Maybe he's losing his touch.

He looks up again, his eyes narrowed. He doesn't speak for a moment, and just studies me instead. I don't like feeling like he's able to see into my soul. I like it even less when I feel that way with you. That's how you've made me feel during every one of our battles. It scares me, and I've denied with vehemence that you know me at all. But I know how I really feel about it, that you know me all too well. And I think you know I feel that way, too.

"Maybe you want him to be dead," Merlin suggests now. "He has been your mortal nemesis."

"I don't know what I want!"

I'm yelling back before I even really think about it. I guess it's true, anyway. I don't know that I want you dead. It's a horrible way for anyone to die. I hate you, but I still want answers from you, too. I'm just sick of being kept in the dark. You knew more than you were saying, you always have. So has Merlin. You're in my house; I think I've got a right to know what's actually happening around here! But is that the only reason why I really want you alive, if I want you alive at all?

Merlin sighs, gently smoothing back your bangs as he turns to you again. "Just please boil the water, Cloud," he says. I know the matter is closed.

I head for the kitchen, sighing as well.

* * *

I don't know what's happening with you while I'm gone. When I bring back the kettle of water, you still don't look any different. Merlin's taken off your armor and your coat, and now he's kneeling down by your mangled wing, trying gently to straighten it. I can hear bones cracking as he works. At least you're not aware to feel it.

I set the container down on the nightstand. "I brought it," I say.

Merlin looks up with a start. "Good," he nods, and stands. "I have to run home and get a few things. Stay with him, won't you, Cloud?" But he's gone before I can answer.

I look you over, and I can feel my eyes narrowing. You're a sorry sight, with the tangled, matted hair, the various open wounds and tears, and the crushed wing. Blood is everywhere. The straps over your chest were slashed through as well as your flesh. Merlin's pushed the tattered remains of the leather aside, taken some towels from the bathroom, and has them pressed over the worst lacerations. Already the cloths are half-soaked. I reach out to hold them in place. I might as well try to stop the bleeding, if I can.

Your chest doesn't rise or fall. Usually I can sense your presence, when you're around. I can't sense anything right now. You're an empty shell. If you're not dead, you're as good as it. Does Merlin think he can bring you back to life? That's not possible.

Suddenly Merlin's back, desperately holding onto more bottles than I thought he could carry at once. He dumps them unceremoniously on a crate I've been using as a chair in the past. "Healing herbs," he explains. "You didn't think it would be as simple as waving a wand, did you? A lot of people do."

I don't know what I thought. Yeah, he's a magician, but it doesn't seem like even magic could fix your injuries, at least not at once. "What do you want me to do?" I ask.

"Use the water and clean his wounds," Merlin replies.

I take another towel from the stack, dipping it in the kettle. When it's wet, I push the bloodied towels away and move the cloth gently over your chest. Behind me, I can hear Merlin mixing herbs in a bowl he brought. The silence hangs in the air.

I'm feeling calmer now. Maybe if I ask again, Merlin will tell me something.

"How do you know he's still alive?"

"I can feel his spirit, fighting for life," Merlin answers. "He might not appear to still be with us, but he is, at least partially. He's caught between life and death. Poor man, he's in so much pain with this mental struggle. . . ."

"He's not a man!" I shoot back, suddenly angry again. So much for feeling calm. But you're a monster, a demon, always determined to make my life miserable. I hate you for that! You shouldn't even be laying in my bed. I don't know why I agreed to this. You probably deserve whatever happens to you.

"Oh? What is he then?" Merlin sounds vaguely amused. I don't see anything funny.

I glower down at your ragged body. "He's me . . . well, my darkness."

"Is that what he's told you?"

"Sometimes."

"There's a lot of ways that could be meant, you know. It could be symbolic instead of literal."

That's true, I guess. But the basic meaning would still be there. "It's still a negative statement," I say flatly. "He makes my life Hell just by being in it, just by being alive at all."

"Then why try to save him?"

Good question. I don't even know how to begin to answer. Instead I move on to your lower right wing. How do I even take care of this? It's so badly damaged. I might hurt it worse just by touching it. But I have to do something. Slowly I hold the edge of it down with one hand while dabbing at it with another cloth. It looks so delicate and limp. . . .

"Will he be able to fly again?"

Where did that come from? Just a random question? Why do I care whether you're grounded or not? It would be better for me if you were. Do you even like flying anyway? I've never seen you do it for pleasure, but only when it's necessary in battle.

"He could fly with one wing, couldn't he?"

I look up at the one in question. "Yeah . . . but it's damaged, too." The only one that isn't hurt is your lower left, in spite of the fact that your left side is injured. But there's no way you could fly on that wing alone. Your lower wings are smaller than the main right wing, and they seem to only exist to make it easier for you to navigate. Sometimes you don't even bother to keep them out at all.

Merlin comes over now. He leans over you, studying the slashes in your chest again. Then he looks to me. "Hold the edges of his skin together," he directs.

Not exactly how I wanted to spend my evening. It's not that easy to do in the first place, since there's three tears so close together. I have to place my hands next to the first and the last, and gently try to push your skin so that the edges will all meet. And I have to try to hold it like this while Merlin's spreading some kind of an herb paste over the wounds. He says it will help you heal better, and that it's more effective than anything in the hospitals. I guess we'll see if he's right.

It's a relief when he's finally finished with that. I don't know how much longer I would have been able to keep my hands steady. Of course, there's the other wounds we have to see about, but right now he's bandaging your chest. I just step back, watching him.

"Do you know what he is?" I ask. I guess it wouldn't hurt.

Merlin never looks up. I think he expected me to get around to that question. "Somewhat," he says.

"But you're not going to tell me, are you."

"He's a man," Merlin replies calmly. "A man who's made some bad choices in his life. Anything else you want to know, I'm afraid you'll have to find out from him. It really wouldn't be fair of me to tell you."

I snort in derision. "Yeah, well, I'll never find out then. He'll never tell me anything, if he lives. In case you haven't noticed, he's really vague."

Merlin nods slowly. "Maybe," he muses, "you don't really need to know."

What? Why wouldn't I need to know? It'd be different if you weren't always hanging around, causing me trouble. Who would have more of a right to know than me? "Whose side are you on, anyway?" I demand.

Now Merlin shakes his head, looking weary. "Side? I'm not on the 'side' of either of you," he retorts, moving to tend to the wound on the left side of your waist. "I'm just respecting his wishes. He has his reasons, Cloud. You might be surprised if you knew them." He motions for me to come over and repeat what I did with the slashes in your chest.

Hopefully this time it won't be as bad, or hard. I come over and kneel down to do so, and find that your wing is going to be in the way. Great. I shift position, trying to move around it. "Yeah, but I don't know them," I answer. "It's probably just another way that he's trying to torture me." I finally move so that your wing is in front of me, and I reach over it to close your skin.

Merlin doesn't say anything more as he continues to work.

* * *

It seems like hours before we ever finish. Maybe it has been; I haven't exactly kept track of the time.

It took ages to do anything with your wings. The feathers kept getting in the way, and Merlin finally had to clip away the ones close around the tears. He set the lower right one with a splint, and he finally admitted that it doesn't look too good for it. He said it might always be bent or deformed, and that you might not be able to fly with it, or even retract it. He thinks your main wing will heal, though.

Of course, this is all assuming that you even live.

I still don't have much hope for you. Maybe it's because I've never seen you take a harsh beating. If it had been a human fighting you, you either would have won the fight or else you might have lost but ended up unscathed. But that dragon was just too much for even you. I guess you met your match. It did too, if I'm looking at things that way.

Merlin even ended up washing your hair. He said that you shouldn't have to lay in any blood, and that it might be a long time before you're awake and aware, and healthy enough to take care of your hair yourself. So he had me get more water so that he could do it.

He had me get a different sheet for the bed, too. I might as well just throw away the other one. It's ragged, and I'll probably never be able to get the blood out of it anyway. It almost looks like someone was murdered on it.

We're both just sitting here now. I let Merlin have the chair, and I'm on a crate. He says we have to wait and watch over you, that this first night will probably determine whether you live or die. And I still wonder if he's crazy for thinking you're alive right now. How could you be, unless somehow, you're not quite mortal? A normal human would probably have been dead long ago.

I don't know what to think that you are, anymore. I started having some doubts after our last battle, I guess, but I brushed most of them aside . . . until I found you again tonight. The fact that I felt none of your pain, that your death didn't affect me at all, it seems to say that you couldn't be part of me. That's what Merlin seems to be saying, too---that you're your own person. I don't really get any of it. Why tell me that you are me, that you are my darkness, if it's not true?

And what are these reasons Merlin talks about as to why you won't tell me the truth? Why would you want me to believe that about you? Not to mention, why do you even hang around me at all if you're not part of me? Just for the fun of it? Do you like making me hate you? What kind of a sick mind do you have?

Why would Merlin want to respect your wishes if you're just fooling around? Do you really have a different, and a logical, explanation behind your actions? I can't think what it would be.

Suddenly you gasp without warning, raising up slightly as your eyes fly open. Merlin gets right up and goes to you, as if he's been expecting this, but I'm too stunned to do anything for a minute. I guess I'm realizing now just how much I did think you were dead, and never coming back. Now that I know that's not true, I'm not sure what I think.

I get up, coming over to you as well. You've slumped back into the mattress, your eyes glassed over, your breathing staggered and rasping. Weakly you grip a handful of the sheet. You're in pain.

I can't think of anything to say to you, or if I should even try. _"Oh hey, you remember me, your worst enemy? Yeah, you're staying in my house and me and this magician have been waiting to see whether there's any life left in your battered body. Because, frankly, you've looked dead since we brought you here."_ It just doesn't sound right. And you probably wouldn't understand anything I'd say, anyway. I'll just stay silent.

Merlin leans over you, saying something quietly that I can't catch. I think he's telling you to rest, that you're safe now, and that it's alright. And whether you're actually hearing him or not, you start to relax, your eyes slowly falling shut. You release the sheet, your shaking fingers uncurling to simply lay on top of the cloth. This time, your breathing continues, abnormal but clearly there.

"He could still die," I say, after another long moment during which nothing is spoken. I don't think you really knew we were here, did you? You opened your eyes, you were conscious for a moment, but your mind was still in another world. The pain was probably all that you could think about and focus on.

Merlin nods thoughtfully. "That's true. But," he declares, "he made it back. He won the first leg of the battle."

I don't know what to feel about that, or if I should feel anything at all. So I just go back to the crate.


	3. You Really Don't Deserve It

**Notes: I had already determined the manner in which Seph died the first time, when I realized the irony of the method.  
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* * *

** Chapter Three**

Dying is a strange experience.

Especially if one goes through it more than once.

I still remember the first time. It was at the end of a harsh battle, and I had just succeeded in killing the opposing side's leader. I had not realized that his captain, whom I had also wounded, was still alive. Not until it was too late, and the pain ripped through my body. I remember falling back, suddenly dizzy and lightheaded. At first I couldn't quite comprehend what had happened. It was a shock, and even after I looked down and saw the blade being pulled out of my stomach, I couldn't quite make sense of it. I collapsed to my knees, clutching at the wound tightly as crimson ran through my fingers.

Somehow I managed to pull myself together long enough to turn around, crashing my sword against his right before he would have delivered the final strike. I shoved him backwards and plunged the Masamune through his chest, killing him for certain that time. He had not been expecting me to be able to get up again, not to mention his own reaction had been slowed by the injuries he had previously received.

My own wounds overwhelmed me then, and I fell back into the grass. I don't know how long I lay there, my life slipping away. I could hear the sounds of battle going on above and around me---the harsh cries of attack, of anger, screams of pain. Swords clashed, guns and cannons were fired. I wondered who was winning, and I recall hoping that I'd trained my men well enough so that they would be victorious. I knew I wouldn't live long enough to discover the outcome.

I think someone found me, eventually, but it was much too late by then to change anything. Even now, I can only vaguely see the boy's face before me---no older than eighteen, with wide and frightened blue eyes and windblown black hair. That description could match several of the soldiers under my command. He called to me, as if from far away. I could not respond, nor could I even fully comprehend what was being said. Death took me then, his dark, sharp fingers reaching into my chest and stopping my heart.

One might think the second time would be less painful, because of knowing what to expect, and also because of this different body. I've been told that I can still perish in this form, but that it will take more to eliminate me. I'm guessing that means that an ordinary mortal would have met their end in that fight with the dragon long before I met mine. Maybe this time around has been more painful, not less, because of that fact.

One thing I have not been told is, what will happen to me if I do, indeed, die again---as I have now. When I realized that you were with me, and that I honestly was going to pass away, I assumed that it would fully be the end---no second chances, no carrying on, even in my current form. Not that I want to remain in this state. But I don't think I've ever wanted to actually, completely cease to exist. I would rather stay in this consequential body.

Right now, I don't seem to be anywhere. I haven't ended up at the judgement hall, as I did the first time. I'm just floating in a nothingness. It's dark all around me. I call out, but there's no one to hear. I reach out, trying to touch something, anything, but it's a vain attempt. There isn't anything to grab.

But something tries to take hold of me. It feels cold, icy, and it starts to completely encircle my body. I move back, again trying to snatch it. I only touch air. It's a mist that's forming all around me, and the more it winds, the more I see scenes of my mortal life flashing in front of my eyes.

They're largely negative, some of occurrances I remember, some of things I've forgotten, and others being events that I've never considered as very serious. Now I not only see and hear what happened, but I feel. I feel everything that the other involved parties felt, and it's overwhelming. I've felt this before, when I died the first time, but now it's different. Then, the facts were simply being presented. This time, I'm being accused, almost attacked with hatred.

No . . . it truly is an attack. The fog has formed talons, raking into my flesh. They tear through my coat and into my back, while others dig into my chest. All three of my wings are violently pulled on, as if this entity is trying to completely dislodge them from my body. It's too much all at once, especially so soon after what happened with the dragon. I scream in pain, trying desperately to get free.

No matter how I struggle, it doesn't do any good. I can't fight a mist. Not even my strongest attacks will take hold, when I try to summon them. My assailant clings tightly, ripping further into my skin. It's going for my heart. . . .

And now I'm moving without warning, plummeting downward into the abyss. The disembodied attacker has suddenly vanished, and I'm left to myself once again. Has it injured me too much to be able to do anything about this? No . . . actually, now that I'm alone, I don't feel wounded. That doesn't make sense, but this isn't the time to be trying to figure it out.

I spread my wings desperately. My fall slows and then stops, and for the moment, I seem to be in control. I take the opportunity to see whether I've been damaged by that creature. I reach up, touching my chest. There are no rips, tears, or holes in the flesh. Chances are, it's the same with the other locations that were grabbed. Now if I can orient myself correctly, I should be able to fly away, and maybe find where I am. There has to be some way out of here.

Unless . . . maybe this is truly Hell. No fires, no traditional devils, but being left alone for eternity with one's thoughts, and with unidentified attackers that try to rip apart whoever they please. That sounds appropriate. Maybe it's been decided that I haven't been doing a good enough job with you, and they've gotten tired of waiting for results.

I already know they disapprove of my approach. But I only treat you the way I wish I would have been treated when I was struggling with my own darkness. I would have wanted someone to push me to do my best, to taunt me and make me want to prove them wrong. I probably would have reacted the same way as you have been, but I like to think that eventually the message would have gotten through to me. I'm hoping it will for you, as well. Not that I'll ever know now.

Suddenly there's solid ground under my feet, halting my flight. But it's still completely dark, with no sign of anyone around. I call out again, not really expecting an answer. Maybe this is all some trick of my mind. But if that's so, what does it say about the condition of my physical body? Am I alive, but delirious?

A low chuckle starts to echo around me. Who's here? What is he laughing about? I don't find this situation amusing. I reach for the Masamune out of habit, and find that I have it. But how would it be possible for me to carry it in death? I draw it, and I can faintly see its blade, even in this nothingness. Somewhere nearby, I can hear another weapon being unsheathed.

"It's not quite what you expected, is it, Sephiroth?"

The voice is unfamiliar, yet in another way it seems like I've heard it before. But where? It's almost as if its owner is deliberately blocking the memories from my mind. I grip my sword tightly, turning in the direction I think is the location of the other party. It's hard to tell for certain. There seems to be an echo in this place.

"I must say, I wasn't expecting this, either---collecting your soul again."

Then this is Death. He doesn't sound dark or frightening, the way one might think he would. He actually has a calm, smooth tone.

"So I am dead." I finally speak.

I can sense the other is shrugging. "Possibly. You look dead to those who are with you."

That doesn't sound definite. "Where am I?" I demand.

"You're in an in-between place," Death answers. "Your fate isn't sealed yet. If you're victorious over me, you'll be allowed to live." There's a sound as if he's snapped his fingers, and suddenly we're both bathed in light, while everything around us remains dark.

I take the opportunity to study the other, though there isn't much to see. He's wearing a black cloak and a hood, the way he's typically been portrayed in the media. But he's also sporting dark gloves, and instead of the traditional scythe, he has a sword as well. I can sense that he enjoys the thought of this battle.

"So they haven't decided what to do with me?" I ask. "Or maybe they don't care either way. I was never a favorite of theirs." He abruptly lunges without warning, and I bring my sword up to block him. The clanging sound reverberates endlessly.

He leans forward, pushing hard in an attempt to throw me back. I can feel his cold breath on my cheek. "They've left your fate up to you," he answers. "I actually don't know the reason. Maybe they are tired of dealing with you, or maybe it's something else. You may never know the answer, just as Cloud may never know the truth behind why you stay around him."

I bear down on him, just as firmly, and manage to force him to stumble away. "I was told that I couldn't tell him, even if I wanted to," I answer, charging again before he can recover. Not that I do want to tell you. Why should you know all of my secrets?

He prevents the attack, quickly gathering his bearings. "This isn't an accusation," he replies smoothly. "Merely fact." Strange, that his vague behavior is making me think of how I act when fighting you.

I find that he is a more worthy opponent than I imagined. Somehow, I never pictured Death as having time to learn how to swordfight. But you are the only one I've faced who is more of a challenge.

I don't know how long this battle is lasting. Time stands still here. It could be mere minutes, or it could be hours. Our weapons clash fiercely, and we each try to force back the other. First it seems that he will win, then I, then he once more. I send him stumbling to the edge of the spotlight, but he recovers quickly and comes at me again. His blade is meeting mine before I expect it to do so.

The movement is too fast, and the Masamune flies from my hand. Now Death brings the blade back to me. I manage to dodge what would be the killing blow, instead moving around to the side of my opponent. I take up my sword again as he turns to attack, and our blades meet. I strain against his assault with all of my might.

I will not be defeated here! Not by Death! I push harder, sending the other backwards again. I come at his weapon with force before he can recover, and it soars out of his hand to plunge into the ground. I bring the Masamune against his cloaked neck.

There's silence for a moment, then another deep chuckle. "Still as skilled as always, Sephiroth," Death remarks. "It's no wonder you were able to slay that dragon, despite all the damage it did to you in the process." He reaches out, calmly pushing the tip of the blade away from him. "You're free to go back."

I step away, still holding my sword. "How?" It's easier said than done. Does he expect me to get back by myself? I don't know how to find my way out of this darkness. It would help if I could see something, anything.

"We're already here." Death sounds amused. "A different dimension, but the same space."

I give him a withering look. Am I expected to cross the dimensional bridge? In my physical body, I could possibly accomplish it. But none of my magic works when I'm in this form. I already discovered that fact during my battle with that mist.

"A spirit who has been granted access can easily pass through the borders of this in-between place and again find the mortal world," Death says calmly. "You are fated to return to life. Any way you pick will lead you to your destination." It almost sounds like he's smirking as he continues. "I'd enjoy seeing you off, but I have another appointment to keep." And with that, he vanishes.

It doesn't concern me much. His explanation makes sense, from what I remember being told upon dying the first time. So I simply start walking, as instructed. Now there are no obstructions---no strange fogs or disappearing floors, or beings wanting to do battle. I feel almost drawn towards a location in the distance, and I keep a steady pace before taking flight to travel the rest of the way.

I'm falling again, without any warning. Not only has the floor made an untimely vanishing act, but there seems to be pressure against my back and my wings, pushing me downward. My hair whips around my face as I gain momentum. Everything is still dark, but it feels as if I'm nearing the end of my journey.

Even so, I'm not expecting the crash, nor the sudden rush of pain that furiously fills every part of my body with fire. I gasp, my eyes flying open as I partially rise off of the soft substance I realize I'm laying on. I'm back in my physical form, and all of the dragon's work is screaming for me to take notice of it. It's the only thing I can notice. When I was first mauled, I was somewhat numb from the shock. But now, I can feel it all acutely.

I fall back onto the bed, gripping handfuls of the sheets. How can I even be alive? How can I possibly survive these wounds? A normal mortal would be dead. There's not any way I can stay conscious right now.

Vaguely I hear a voice speaking to me. I can't clearly make out whose it is, or what is even being said, but I feel myself relaxing. The pain slips away as I sink into the relief of unconsciousness.

* * *

The first thing I become aware of is an odd, twisting sound, accompanied by something dripping. It almost sounds like a cloth being wrung out in a pan of water. There aren't any voices now, but I can hear floorboards creaking. Then something cool and damp is laid across my forehead. I try to force open my eyes.

You're looking down at me, your own eyes narrowed and filled with ice. There are dark circles underneath them, your skin is pale, and your hair is even more wild than usual. You look completely drained, both physically and emotionally.

But you don't seem surprised to see I've regained my senses. You step back, crossing your arms."I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to wake up," you remark flatly. "You've had a bad fever and delirium for the past three days."

"Did I say anything that didn't make sense?"

My voice is more choked and rasping than I had thought it would be. But at least I can speak. My throat feels so parched and rough that I wondered if I'd even still have the ability.

You roll your eyes. "That's what usually happens when someone is in that condition," you reply. "But at least you didn't try to get out of bed. You would have only hurt yourself worse. Or maybe I would have done it for you. Though I have to say, it probably wouldn't have been possible to do worse damage to you than that dragon did." Now the sarcasm is obvious in your voice. You always fall back on it as a defense mechanism.

I glance down at myself. My chest and waist are bandaged, and my lower right wing is being supported by a splint. I remember that beast crushing it after it managed to pin me to the ground. That was when it slashed my chest, as well. I only barely was able to retaliate with the Masamune and fatally stab it before it would have clawed me again and gotten to my heart.

Now I raise my gaze to look around the room. I recognize the few pieces of furniture, the bare walls, and the window with the torn curtain---not to mention the old, brown quilt with which I've been covered, and which is hanging half off the bed. This is your room. I've observed you here many times. But why would you bring me here? Why would you want me here?

You mistake my surprise as disorientation. "You're in my house," you inform me. "I didn't know what else to do with you."

I look back to you, the questions in my eyes.

You look away, annoyed. "You've got Merlin to thank for that, not me," you say. "I would have just left you for dead. He's the one who convinced me you still had a chance." Your voice falters slightly. Is that the full truth, or are you lying again, Cloud? Are you afraid to face it, if you yourself desired, for whatever reason, to show me compassion? I know you, Cloud. You wouldn't have let that magician manipulate you into something like this. You would have put your foot down, unless some part of you wanted to see me live.

"Is that true, Cloud?"

You stiffen, gripping your arms more tightly. "It's true." You glance over your shoulder. "Merlin's kinder than I am. Whatever help you've been given, you don't deserve."

In spite of myself, I smirk weakly at you. "Oh? You have the right to judge me, Cloud?"

Your eyes widen briefly, then narrow, and you give me one of the darkest, coldest looks I've ever received from anyone. Without a word you turn and storm out of the room, leaving the door to swing shut behind you.

It's nothing I wasn't expecting.


	4. Where is the Light?

**Notes: I hope I wrote for Tifa alright! For some reason, I'm quite concerned that I can't write for her. And the character who pops up at the end of the chapter, he doesn't have an official _Kingdom Hearts_ version, but I decided he deserved one. He's awesome!  
**

* * *

** Chapter Four**

You've got a lot of nerve!

Do I have the right to judge you?!

It isn't a case of judging. It's just a fact. After everything you've done to me, how could you ever deserve what Merlin and I have done for you? We've barely gotten any sleep the past few days. You've kept us wide awake, with your screams and your mindless ranting. You were panicked, as well as in pain, and it took a lot to even calm you down. But we kept trying.

We've had to keep changing the bandages on your wounds, too. Merlin acts like he's worried that the slashes on your chest won't heal easily. They are pretty deep. It looks like they might've started to close up, with that paste stuff helping, but you shouldn't move around too much. Easier said than done, when you've been thrashing around deliriously. I pretty much had to grab your shoulders and hold you down. Of course, you didn't like that much.

Merlin had to go take care of something else yesterday, and he isn't back yet. I don't think I slept at all last night, trying to keep you peaceful. It was actually kind of creepy, seeing you acting so hysterical and crazed. You're usually so calm and self-assured, like you were a few minutes ago. You annoyed the heck out of me then, but I'd rather see you like that than the way you've been the past few days.

You're probably not even grateful for any of what we've done.

I lean against the other side of the door, crossing my arms.

Tifa came by yesterday. She didn't know the full details of what had happened. Actually, she only knew about the dragon being killed. The Hollow Bastion Restoration Committee has been trying to figure out where it came from, but they haven't had any luck. Heh, she wanted to know if I'd been the one who killed it. That was an interesting conversation.

_"It wasn't me." I half-turned away, shutting the door behind her. "I'm fine. Didn't they find the dark blue feathers caught in its claws? It was Sephiroth who killed it." I walked away, further into the mostly bare living room._

_She followed me. "Yeah, they did find them," she replied. "I thought they were Sephiroth's, but then I wondered if you might've gotten involved too. Since you're always fighting him. . . ." Her voice quieted, and I could hear how worried she'd been, when she spoke next. "There was so much blood around there, that wasn't the dragon's. I was afraid it was yours. And of course you didn't answer the phone when I tried to call. . . ."_

_"There's been a lot going on." I looked back at her over my shoulder. "But I wasn't involved at all. It was dead when I came. And Sephiroth almost was." I didn't want anyone to know that you'd ended up at my place, but I knew it was probably going to come to that. I wouldn't be able to always keep it a secret, at least not from Tifa. I guess, if anyone has to know, I don't mind so much when it's her._

_Her eyes widened slightly. "Sephiroth was dying?" I guess she thought the same as I did, that you were part of me and couldn't die. She fell for your lies, too._

_I nodded. "All that human blood you found was his. He was in really bad shape." I turned away from her again. I knew she would probably drag the rest of the story out of me, because I wasn't going to just tell her._

_She was quiet again for a bit. I guess she realized I wasn't going to volunteer anything else. "Did he die?" she wanted to know. She spoke carefully, as if she didn't know whether I'd be upset at the question or not. But I don't know why I would have been. Though I guess I don't really know at all anymore, thanks to Merlin. And you._

_"Yeah, he did." I walked to the ragged couch and sat on the end of it._

_She came and sat next to me. "Then . . . he can't bother you anymore," she said slowly._

_I snorted in derision. "He'll always bother me, Tifa," I answered. "He haunts me day in and day out. He sneaks into my thoughts and into my mind, tormenting and taunting me, the same as he always did." I think I came to realize that'd be true even if you had stayed dead. You never would have left me alone. Maybe it would have even been worse if you'd died._

_She leaned forward, trying to look at my face. "He's a part of you, Cloud," she said. "He can't ever really die, because of that."_

_That made me irritated. I'm not sure why. Maybe I don't want to think of you as part of me anymore, now that it seems like you aren't. "I don't know what he is, anymore," I retorted, glaring at the floor. "He's just . . . Sephiroth."_

_She stared at me then. "What happened?" she gasped. "Something happened to you, Cloud, when he died. You're different."_

_I just shrugged. "Why didn't it affect me when he died?" I asked. "Why didn't it hurt? If he's part of me, then it should have." I straightened up, finally looking over at her. "Anyway, he's not dead right now, Tifa."_

_She didn't understand. "I know," she answered. "You said he'd always haunt you. But we can fight him together." She looked at me pleadingly. "I want to help you!"_

_I stood up, walking across the floor. "No. . . . I mean he really isn't dead." I opened the door to my bedroom, stepping inside. You were unconscious then, and thankfully quiet, unlike how you'd been a few hours earlier. But you still didn't look like you were at peace. Your skin was flushed from the fever, and you were still weakly gripping a handful of quilt._

_Tifa got up and followed me. I could see she was confused, and when she saw your motionless body, she just froze and stared. I didn't say anything, and after a moment she slowly stepped closer, looking down at your battered wings. Something that looked like sick horror passed over her face, and I think right then she started to realize that you really did get hurt, that you were feeling pain just like any normal human would. I don't think she'd ever thought about it, just as I hadn't._

"How long has he been here?" she asked, bending over you slightly. She acted like she was checking your vital signs, or maybe she was trying to see if you had any at all. I know I was surprised to find that you do have a heartbeat.

_"Ever since the dragon was killed," I told her. "Merlin told me that his life could still be saved, and . . . things just happened." I looked at the wall. I knew what else she was probably thinking. The same questions I've been asking myself since then. Why have I let you stay? Why am I such a glutton for punishment? And what am I going to do when you start getting better, if you do?_

_She straightened up, turning to look back at me. I was surprised to see that she was smiling softly. She didn't look puzzled anymore, but like she'd just figured things out. "Most people would never do what you've done, Cloud," she said._

_I didn't, and don't, want to be made to look like I'm noble. I'm not. "Merlin did most everything for him," I answered, moving away from the door and walking back into the living room. "I just helped when he directed me to. I never wanted Sephiroth to be in my house. I still hate him."_

_She followed me. "But that only makes it all the more meaningful," she said. "Even though you hate him, you're still trying to help him. You didn't have to agree to let Merlin bring him here."_

_I clenched a fist. "Yeah, but why?" I snapped, finally turning back to her. "Why did I agree? Why am I trying to help him? I should have just left him for dead, or made Merlin take him somewhere else!" I knew it sounded hollow. I'd already determined that no one else would have taken you in. I guess Merlin didn't have room for you at his house. Or maybe he thought there would be too much commotion, since the Restoration Committee hangs out there. "He's my enemy. I don't have any reason to try to save his life!"_

_Tifa didn't answer, instead seeming to be trying to decide how to say what she wanted. "You do have a reason," she told me then. "You're a good person. You can't bear to see someone suffering so much, even Sephiroth."_

_It didn't, and doesn't, satisfy me. "But I thought I wanted it," I said bitterly, gripping my arms. "I thought I'd enjoy seeing him in pain. Then I saw him lying there in his blood, with all that the dragon did to him . . . and I just felt sick. He looked so helpless . . . so pathetic. . . . And I wondered why I'd thought I wanted to see him in misery." I thought back to what you'd said about not needing my pity. Maybe I have pitied you, even though I denied it then._

_She didn't say anything more. She just stayed with me for a while. And I wished that I could find an answer that would make sense to me._

Is it noble to have you here, even though I still don't want it? Wouldn't I have to feel completely forgiving for it to really be thought of like that? I haven't forgiven you. I still hate you. And I don't want you in my room, in my bed. I just . . . I didn't know what else to do with you. You've been so sick, and you still are. It'll probably be a while before you'll be able to go anywhere else. If I'd just left you for dead, and Merlin hadn't found you. . . . I don't know. I think I would have regretted it, if I'd found out later that you'd still been alive and could have been helped.

Maybe, out of anger, I have been judging you. Merlin keeps acting like there's more to what you've been doing than he or you will ever admit. I keep feeling like it can't be true, that you're a monster, a demon. Merlin says you're just a man. I can't believe it, but maybe I should see again if you'll tell me the truth. Why do you want me to hate you?!

I push myself away from the door and turn around, opening it and coming inside. You're still laying on the bed---as if I thought you wouldn't be---and you're still awake. You look over with tired eyes.

"I'm guessing you're feeling better than you were, or you wouldn't still be aware of things," I say.

"Then you're guessing right, for once." You have a hand on your bandaged chest, as if it's bothering you. I guess it probably is, considering how bad those wounds are.

Slowly I walk over to the chair and sit down, still watching you. "Who are you?" I demand. "And don't just tell me you're me. I'm sick of it!" I glare at you. You're not fazed, and I can tell you're about to say exactly what I just said not to. You haven't changed at all. Not that I thought you would. But I thought maybe you'd be more sobered after nearly dying.

"I can't help it if you don't believe me." You're calm, and speaking smoothly. And you're annoying me!

"Oh stop it!" I lean forward, placing my hands on my knees. "You're not me. I know that much. You're someone else. You're your own person. I don't know why you've been lying to me, but Merlin's been telling me to give you the benefit of a doubt. He thinks you have a good reason for what you've been doing. Why, since it obviously involves me, can't you tell me?!"

You just study me, looking thoughtful. "It's not really a lie, Cloud," you say. "Not if you look at it from a certain point of view."

Typical. You're being vague again. "What point of view?" I persist. "No one can understand you, except you!"

Now you don't look impressed. "If you'd calm down and think about it, you might find that the answer is more simple than you're imagining." You try to shift position, wincing as you start to move further onto the left side of the bed. You spread your one uninjured wing, letting it hang over the edge to the floor. Your bangs fall into your face, but they can't hide the look of pain as your hand flies to your mangled side. You sink back into the makeshift pillow, giving up.

You close your eyes, and for a minute I think maybe you're passing out again. But then you speak.

"What was it I said when I was delirious?"

I just shrug. "Nonsense, as far as I'm concerned," I say. "I couldn't even make most of it out. You were screaming a lot. You probably kept the whole neighborhood awake." I frown at him. "Why? Are you afraid maybe you told some of these messed up secrets of yours?"

You smirk, still keeping your eyes closed. "Perhaps."

I glare at you. "We're not going to get anywhere with this, are we."

"Probably not."

I get up, muttering, and start to leave the room.

Suddenly I hear a knock on the door, and a voice I haven't heard in a long time. . . . For several years, actually, ever since I decided to be a traveling swordsman. But I still recognize it instantly.

"Hey, Cloud! You in there? Open up!"

It's my best friend, who's always been there, but let me have my space when he knew I needed it. He's probably kept tabs on me since I left. He's the kind of guy who'd watch from afar if he thought that was for the best. Even so, it's ironic that he suddenly is turning up now. I wonder if he knows too. . . .

I go into the living room and to the front door, unlocking and opening it. He looks the same as always, smiling easily as he places a hand on the doorframe. His black hair is as wild as ever, and he's wearing his usual soldier's armor---though it looks like now there's a few more medals of honor on his jacket. He probably got them saving some of his men, and maybe coming up with plans that led them to victory. He's made the military his life, though he got even more into it a few years ago. I've never been sure why. He's never wanted to talk about it.

I hold the door open more. It's a weird time for him to show up, but I have to admit that it's good to see him again.

"Hey . . . Zack."

He comes in, shutting the door himself. Then he leans on it, crossing his arms like I was doing earlier. "So . . . it's been a while," he remarks, acting like we'd seen each other a few days or weeks ago. "How've you been, Cloud?"

I shrug. "Same as ever. You?" I have this weird feeling that Zack really does know what's happened, or at least some of it, but I'm still not going to say anything unless he does. And he probably will.

"Same." He smirks a bit, looking amused, and pushes himself away from the door. "Thought it was about time I came and paid you a visit." Now he sobers, stopping in front of me. "Seriously, Cloud, how have you really been?" His eyes bore into mine, concerned. Yeah . . . I can't fool him.

I look away. "You know, don't you?" I mumble. "About Sephiroth . . . what he's said to me before . . . and what's happened to him now?" I would feel stupid saying this to someone else. But I remember how Zack almost always seemed to know exactly what was going on with everyone else, especially me. I don't know how he finds out, and how he's able to read me like a book, but I just learned to accept it a long time ago.

I can see him nodding slowly out of the corner of my eye. "Yeah," he replies, and I'm not surprised at all. "Hey, it must be tough, having him here, after all that. . . ."

"It's a nightmare," I mutter. "If you know about what he's said to me, and how we've fought, then you also know how much I hate him."

"Yep." He nods, and then claps a hand on my shoulder. "And I can see you haven't been doing well," he observes. "You say it's been a nightmare, well, you're sure showing proof of it."

"Thanks a lot," I retort sarcastically.

He chuckles. "Look, Cloud, get some sleep," he urges. "I'll be around in case Sephiroth needs anything." I can tell he means it, and before I can reply, he's turned me around and is steering me toward the couch.

I look over my shoulder at him. "It's not that simple," I grumble. "If he ends up screaming again, delirious, I'll wake right up."

"He's delirious?" Zack frowns a bit. I guess he hadn't heard that part.

I sigh. "Well, he wasn't a few minutes ago," I admit. "But look, you just got here, and already you're volunteering to look after a patient who's driving me crazy?!"

"Of course." Now Zack grins. "Word's gotten around that you're seriously sleep deprived, my friend. And I'm home for a while, since it's possible that more of those dragons will show up, so I thought I'd drop in and help you out." He starts to push me down onto the couch. "Don't worry about a thing."

I grunt, slumping back against the tattered plush. I have to say, this is tempting. I could probably count the hours of sleep I've had in these three days on my hand. And now that I'm actually on something soft, I'm suddenly realizing how exhausted I am. Slowly I start to lay down on my side, bringing the worn throw off the back of the couch as a blanket.

"Yeah, that's it. Just sleep," Zack tells me. I'm already halfway there. "I'll go check on Sephiroth."

Vaguely I hear the bedroom door open and close. I'm still dozing as I hear Zack speak again, and I don't know whether it's really happening or if it's in a dream, but right now I don't care. But it almost sounded like he said . . .

"Hey, old pal."


	5. Your Only Memory of Me

**Chapter Five**

As soon as I hear the new voice speaking to you, old memories are stirred again. I know that voice. I haven't heard it in some time, but more recently than you have. It sounds like its owner hasn't changed at all. Not that I would have expected him to. He always has been one of those rare constants in life.

It amuses me, how easily he's able to convince you to lay down and sleep. He would probably do a much better job than I at guiding you through controlling and overcoming your darkness. You would listen to him, at least, and understand him. But the task wasn't appointed to him. That's the irony here. You and I can't stand each other, and yet I'm bound to you.

I look up when the door is pushed open again. He comes in, shutting it behind him, and casually walks over to the bed with a greeting. Yes, still the same Zack.

"You haven't changed," I tell him.

"Sounds like you haven't, either," he replies. "From what I've heard, and what Cloud's said, you're still hard to get along with, not to mention obstinate. And you're looking pretty good, for someone who got mauled by a kind of dragon none of us have ever seen before." He sits down on the chair and leans back, just looking at me. Something flashes through his eyes, a spark of pain. What is he remembering?

He smirks now, his normal, calm personality returning. "You've really gotta be more careful, Seph," he admonishes. He's the only one whom I ever allowed to address me by that nickname, though I still don't care for it. I don't even remember how I ended up allowing him to call me as such. He was probably just so persistant that I started ignoring it after a while.

"It attacked me," I say flatly. "I wouldn't have been stupid enough to try to provoke it."

"Nope, that would have been Victor's thing," he says. "You remember Victor?"

"The bane of my existence for several long years." I try to push myself partially up, using the rolled-up quilt "pillow" as a support for my back. "What happened to him?"

"Major General," says Zack, smirking ruefully as he does.

That doesn't surprise me. "The majority of the commanding officers always were idiots," I retort.

"Isn't it the truth." The mischief is still in his eyes. "Except for you and me, of course."

"Heh." I can see what he isn't saying, what's behind the light-hearted eyes. _"Or we were, until you lost yourself in the darkness and I couldn't bring you back."_ But he won't say it aloud. He knows I already know quite well the consequences of my earthly actions.

He studies me, sobering again. "How's it going with Cloud?"

"You have to ask?" I look back boredly. "He's stubborn, hard-headed, angry, sarcastic . . ."

"Basically, you," Zack surmises. He's silent for a moment, mulling over what he wants to say. I just watch him. He usually doesn't have to stop and think. He generally knows what to say, and not because he's acting impulsive, like you. He isn't that type.

"You know, Seph . . . even if he does remind you of yourself---and sometimes I can see where you get that from---he's still his own person. He's still Cloud. Not you." He continues to observe me, and I feel my eyes narrowing slightly. "I think maybe you treat him too much as if he really is you. You hate yourself for what you did before, and you see Cloud maybe going to make the same mistakes, and you tear into him like you're going up against yourself.

"Like when you've told him 'The light doesn't suit you', you're not just saying it because you want Cloud to deny it and prove that he can fight his darkness." He peers at me, his expression growing more thoughtful. "I think you're also saying it because you're imagining that you're talking to yourself, and because of this self-hatred of yours, you really feel that way about yourself."

That's typical of Zack. He always manages to probe into my feelings and tries to determine what's going on in my mind. I do hate myself. I'm disgusted by my past behavior, and I doubt that the light will ever suit me. But when I say it to you, I'm not imagining that I'm talking to myself. I know I'm talking to you. I want you to be stronger than I was!

I keep looking at him. "Are you going to tell me to change my approach too?"

He shrugs. "Nope, just suggesting that maybe you need to give the guy a break sometimes. Yeah, we both know he's an idiot. He drives me crazy, worrying about him. Sometimes I just want to smack him upside the head. But . . ." He smiles. "He's a good guy. I think that needs to be remembered more. Maybe, if you could just step back now and then, and see him as Cloud and not you, you'd realize it too."

"I never said he isn't a good person."

"But it's hard for you to think that sometimes, isn't it, when all you can focus on is that he's like you?" Zack leans forward, and smiles in a lopsided manner. "Of course, you're a good guy yourself. And I know that's pretty much impossible for you to believe." He sobers again, while I look at him incredulously. He thinks _I'm_ a good person? That's ridiculous. Not even my current superiors believe that of me. All of them are certain I'm a hopeless cause. They're probably right. At least, I'll never be what they're expecting of me.

"Sure, you made some pretty bad mistakes," he continues. "You really lost yourself for a while there. But there were still times when I could see the old you, and I wanted to believe that you'd come back. You almost did." He looks away, but not before I see the same haunted flash in his eyes again. "You just ended up killed before you really had the chance. . . ."

It falls into place then. I don't know why I didn't realize it sooner. "You're the one who found me that day. . . ." It should have been obvious to me. I guess in my delirium, I thought the person who found me was a few years younger than in reality. Zack is younger than me, but not by that much.

He nods slowly. "I just . . . wasn't expecting it at all, Seph." He starts to look back to me. "I wanted to get you to where you could maybe still get help, but it just wasn't to be, I guess. I could see you didn't know me, and then you just . . . died in my arms." It still bothers him, even now, as I'm in front of him. It was right after my death that he became so intensely focused on making the military his life. I'm not sure why. Did he blame himself, and think he could atone for it by saving others? Did he just want to have something in which to throw all of his attention?

"That's what happens in war."

"Yeah, I know. I know all too well." His eyes narrow. "But it's hard to feel that blasé about it when your best friend is one of the fatalities."

I keep looking at him. "You couldn't have stopped it," I tell him.

"That's what I tell myself. But there's this other part of me that says maybe I could've, if I'd been quicker, if I'd found you sooner." Zack isn't the kind of person who would sit and angst over it, as you are, but I can see in his eyes the Hell he went through. He probably pushed himself so hard so he wouldn't have to think about it. I hurt him when I traveled down a path of darkness, and I hurt him worse when I died while still on it.

Abruptly he changes the subject, his tone becoming lighter again. "But then you just showed up, a year after your death, sporting these." He points at my wings. "Scared the heck out of me. I thought I'd drunk myself into some kind of a weird stupor."

I remember that all too well.

_I had teleported into Zack's quarters on the base. As I had expected, he was alone. He was sitting at his desk with a shot glass, staring out the window at the late night rain. He had a far-off look in his eyes, and I wondered if he was thinking about what had happened a year earlier. I imagined so. Zack might not angst, but he does strongly remember events such as the death of someone he's been close to, and on a day such as the one year anniversary, it would definitely be on his mind._

_He seemed older than he had the last time I'd seen him, and not just because he had physically aged. He always has had a more serious side to him, despite his usually light-hearted behavior, and from his expression then, it looked like it was more pronounced. But, like the Zack I remembered, he had unbuttoned his jacket and dropped the tie unceremoniously on the desk. He never has liked ties. Not that I have._

_I never thought I'd be seen. He seemed occupied with his thoughts, and even if he had caught sight of me, I doubted it would be a welcome experience. For the past year, I had wandered aimlessly, told that most of the time I could not be seen by mortal eyes, and that if I was visible, I would not be recognized. I'm still not certain what the purpose of that year was, only that it was part of the consequences of the choices I'd made while on my path of sin. Was I supposed to be seeing the end results of the damage I'd done, and the people I'd hurt?_

_I spent some of my time at the base, watching the other soldiers and seeing how they were getting along. But I didn't want to stay there often. They didn't know me, and it grew to be exasperating after a while---being nothing more than a ghost or a stranger to them. So I took to investigating the other worlds, learning what I could about them and battling at the Olympus Coliseum to become stronger. I felt like I was in a kind of limbo, not really dead and not really alive, either._

_I did return to Hollow Bastion and participate, the times we went to war. I gave assistance where I could, quietly and unnoticed, and then would depart as soon as possible. As far as I know, no one saw me at all during those times, as a stranger or not---except for the enemies I felled._

_I'm not sure why I decided to go back to the base, and to Zack's quarters, on the anniversary of my death. I hadn't been there for several months, and the only time I had tried to previously communicate with Zack, he hadn't seen me at all. I wasn't really looking forward to the possibility of that happening again. And if he saw me, but I was a stranger to him, that would be even more disheartening. I suppose I pessimistically assumed that my situation couldn't get any worse than that, and I was willing to chance it._

_But this time, as I sat on a chair and observed him, he suddenly started and spun around. He apparently sensed someone watching, and as his eyes locked with mine, the color drained from his face and the glass slipped from his fingers. His voice came out in a strained half-whisper._

_"Seph. . . ."_

_He slumped back in the chair, rubbing his eyes. "Man . . . this is bad," he muttered. "I'm hallucinating already. . . ."_

_I'm not sure which of us was more surprised. I didn't even try to respond to him at first. I couldn't. I was still reeling from the realization that he not only had seen me, but he recognized me, too. I had believed that I would never have that experience again. At first I thought it was probably just a mistake, and that when he looked up once more, the knowledge would be gone from his eyes. I dreaded him looking up again, for that reason. I wanted to be remembered._

_Finally he dared to glance again in my direction. "You're still here?" he said, and smirked weakly as he gathered his wits. "Well . . . you're a persistent figment of my imagination, aren't you." He never can let himself appear fazed for long._

_I just stared at him. "You can see me?" I answered. "And you know me?"_

_Zack snorted. "Know you? Hey, we were comrades for a good while, weren't we? We went through a lot together. I like to think we were friends." He sighed, running a hand through his wild hair. "It figures I'd see you tonight, of all nights. I guess I was half-expecting that I might dream you up. But those dark wings . . . wow. I wasn't planning on that. I wonder what I drank to think up them."_

_I got up then, walking over to him. "I'm not a product of your imagination!" I said, desperate to make him realize the truth. "I'm here!" And I reached out, gripping his shoulder. He froze under my touch._

_Slowly he raised his hand, curling it around my arm. "Seph . . ." He couldn't seem to comprehend that he was actually touching solid flesh, or that I was able to grab him. Instead he just gazed up at me, still chalk white. "You can't be. . . . You're dead. . . ."_

_"I know." I released him then, straightening up in front of him. My wings hung limply from my shoulder and at my sides. I hadn't bothered to conceal the two lower ones. I suppose I didn't see the point. He might as well see all of them, if he was going to see one of them._

_He looked me up and down, trembling and shaking his head all the while. "You were dead," he murmured again. "They reported you as missing, but I knew you were dead. I always knew it. . . . I just . . . I wasn't supposed to let anyone know. . . ." That, as I had learned during my observations, was because those in command had feared what the enemy would do if they were aware that one of our army's leaders---me---had met his demise. They had decided instead to list me as Missing In Action, and keep the enemy wondering if someday I would return. Zack had not been part of the plan, and he had not liked it, but he had been forced to swear his silence._

_I nodded slowly in acknowledgment. "I've seen that. I've watched almost everything that's been taking place over the past year." I glanced at his jacket. "You seem to have acquired a couple more medals."_

_He started to lean back again, the initial shock wearing off. I wondered if he still thought he was having delusions. "Yeah. . . . I got wounded a couple months ago, during the most recent fight," he reported. "They decided I was a hero, and so I ended up with one medal for getting wounded, and another for a plan of mine that hopefully saved more lives than we would've if we hadn't used it. . . ."_

_He studied me again, and his eyes widened slightly as he seemed to fully take it all in. "Looks like you picked up something new too. What are these?" he asked, blinking as he curiously reached to touch the wing nearest to him._

_I let him. "A symbol of the restitution I have to make for what I did wrong in the past," I answered. They were strange to get used to, at first. The lower two can retract, though the one on my right shoulder always remains. I found that they can be useful during battles, and for when I need to get to certain locations faster than I would by walking. But some tasks are more difficult with them, such as sleeping. It's uncomfortable to lay on them._

_He nodded slowly, seeming to accept that explanation. "They look like angel wings," he mused._

_"Hardly. I'm about the farthest thing from an angel." I half-turned from him. "You know that better than anyone."_

_I could feel his eyes watching me. "How am I even able to touch you?" he demanded. "You're dead. Doesn't that mean you're . . . well, a ghost?"_

_I looked at him over my shoulder. "I don't know what I am right now," I said flatly. "I have a physical body, but usually I'm invisible or unrecognizable to those around me. You're the first one who's known who I am in this entire year." And if it wasn't a mistake, then what did it mean? Was the curse being lifted?_

_Zack was obviously stunned. "That . . . that's a terrible existence," he breathed._

_"It's not much of an existence at all," I replied._

_He shook his head. "Have you . . . tried to talk to me before?" I could see that the thought of speaking to me and not knowing me greatly disturbed him. It does sound bizarre, doesn't it. I don't understand how it worked, since my physical appearance did not change---save for the addition of these wings._

_"I did, once. You didn't see me at all," I said in a matter-of-fact tone. "And you couldn't hear me."_

_"Yeah . . . I guess I didn't." He looked up at me again. "You've changed, Seph. . . ."_

_"Yes, we just went through that, didn't we?" I could hear the sarcasm slipping into my voice._

_Zack smirked slightly, but then shook his head. "No . . . I mean . . . your personality. You've sobered. You don't act like you did right before you . . . well, died. You're more like the guy I used to know when we hung out a lot, only you seem . . . downright tired. Of everything."_

_"A year of isolation can do that." I sank down into another chair, closer to him. "I've had a lot of time to think." And maybe that was also part of what they wanted. Maybe they wanted to wear me out before doing whatever else they were going to. I couldn't help wondering exactly what that might be._

_Zack nodded slowly, a trace of a melancholy smile coming across his features. "I guess you would have," he agreed. "But I've got to say, it's good to have you back." He propped himself up with an elbow on the back of the chair. "So . . . are you gonna stick around for a while?"_

_"As long as they'll let me." At any rate, I wasn't intending to go away any time soon, since I had finally been recognized. I was content to stay where I was. And apparently they didn't care, as I remained with Zack for the next several days._

_It was not long after that when I learned that Zack had indeed broken the curse by recognizing me. I still don't entirely understand, but apparently the fact that he is the only person I consider a friend has something to do with it. Also, that particular night, he was especially missing me and wishing that I was there. So somehow, he was able to see through whatever spell had been put on me._

_I was then told that I was being assigned to you, because of your struggles with the darkness in your heart. I wasn't pleased about it, and even less so when I observed you for a while and realized just how much you're like I was during my mortal life. But there wasn't anything I could do about it. And Zack seemed to think that I would be able to actually help you, when I told him. He said that he was worried about you, and that he thought it would probably be more effective for me to approach you instead of him, because you and I have traveled the same path._

"You know," Zack muses now, "Cloud's probably going to be pretty ticked off if he ever finds out that I know you, and not only that, but that I know all about why you're here."

"That can't be helped."

"I guess not. . . . Especially since he's just not supposed to know your reasons." He smirks, crossing his arms. "It's actually pretty awkward, Seph---being friends with both you and him."

"Then why are you?"

He shrugs. "I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment," he replies, a quiet smile of satisfaction coming over his features. "For some reason, I like both of you stubborn idiots. Maybe that means I'm one too."

"Probably."

He looks at me in mock horror. "You're not supposed to agree with me!"

"You're in denial."

"You're too cruel!"

Sometimes I have to wonder---how did I end up friends with him?

The door opens and you step in, still blinking sleepily. You look from Zack to me and back again, and then run a hand through your hair. "It looks like you two are getting along well," you comment flatly, but without suspicion. You still don't know at all, do you? Of course, why would you? Why would you have any idea that I knew your friend years ago?

Zack shrugs nonchalantly. "What can I say?" he smiles. "The guy's not so bad. He needs to lighten up more, but hey, so do you."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, well, you don't know him like I do," you mutter. You look to me, but continue speaking to Zack. "He's an arrogant, self-centered, sadistic . . ." You pause, searching for the right word. If you're trying to affect me with your comments, it won't work. I don't care what you think of me. But you _do _know that, don't you?

"Whatever you say is true of me, is also true of yourself," I respond then. I hear Zack sighing quietly.

You glower. "That's not going to work anymore, Sephiroth. I know you're not really me." You look back to Zack. "If you like this guy, he must have messed with your head worse than he does with me." I can't tell what you're thinking, other than that your hatred of me is obvious. Do you wish that you had left me for dead? It's a human feeling. I wouldn't blame you for it. What matters is what you do with it. And you've been working to save my life, not to end it.

Zack just looks back calmly, and somewhat amused. "I like to think I'm immune to these mind tricks of Seph's," he replies. "He just doesn't know when to stop."

Now you raise an eyebrow. "'Seph'?" you repeat incredulously. Which are you more stunned about---that anyone would feel like calling me by a nickname, or that I let him get away with it? You glance back to me, and I only give you a deadpan look.

Zack is further amused. "Just me being random." Somehow he doesn't look quite relaxed now, in spite of the mirth in his eyes.

You don't look impressed. But instead of answering, you simply shake your head and go back to the door. "I'm going to order out for dinner or something," you mumble, and quickly depart. That seems strange, too, even though it isn't likely that you would want to stay around me very long. It seems to be something else.

I look to Zack. "What just happened?" I demand.

He grins sheepishly. "I think maybe I just slipped up," he confesses in a low tone, leaning down to me. "See, I used to talk about you to Cloud all the time, only I always called you 'Seph.' If he remembers that, he's probably pretty confused."

I just keep looking at him. "Why am I not surprised." And I'm honestly not. From the moment he arrived, I knew that it was bound to be awkward. I'm sure that he knew it, too. He acts relaxed most of the time, but he isn't careless or thoughtless. He must have been fully aware of what his presence might bring about. Though that makes me wonder why on earth he still came.

He straightens up again. "I always did kinda feel bad that I never told him," he muses, and then blinks. "Of course I'd never tell him about why you're here now," he corrects himself quickly. "I don't have any right to spill your secrets. But it just feels weird, to go behind his back about knowing you at all." He locks his thumbs through the straps of his suspenders, still looking as calm and nonchalant as ever. I can tell he wants to talk to you.

I just shrug. "What's done is done." You're probably suspicious now, but will you actually arrive at the truth for your conclusion? Whatever the case, naturally you will be upset. And I imagine, bewildered. If you've realized the facts, you'll wonder why Zack kept them from you. But I'm not going to worry about it. Zack can figure out what to say to you. I know that he won't tell you what you shouldn't know.

"Yeah, I guess. . . ." He walks to the door. "Guess I'll go find him, see what he says . . . if you're okay with that." He glances back.

I nod. "Go ahead."

He leaves, shutting the door behind him.


	6. So Many Seeds Have Been Sown

**Chapter Six**

Seph. . . . He called you Seph.

That's impossible. He must have just been goofing off, randomly, like he said. He must've just figured he could easily shorten your name to something familiar to him. He couldn't have known you. You couldn't be . . . you just couldn't.

I hate how it all fits. You two acted so comfortable with each other, when I woke up and went to check on you. I could hear the barbs you were trading with Zack. You sounded like you'd known him for ages, and he you. I've never heard you sound that relaxed with anyone. Wouldn't Zack's personality annoy you, especially if you weren't familiar with him?

The door's opening. I can hear Zack coming back here, into the living room. I'm going to ask him about this. And he'd better answer! If he acts as vague as you do . . . no, Zack's not like you. He's nothing like you! How could the two of you have ever spent time together, worked together . . . been friends? Zack wouldn't want to be around a creep like you!

"How's 'Seph'?"

The sarcasm is thick in my voice. You'd comment on that, wouldn't you? You always say I use it as a defense mechanism. As if you'd really know.

Zack walks over next to me. "Still awake. . . . He seems pretty well off, considering his condition." He crosses his arms, watching me, shifting his weight. Is he uneasy, wondering what I'm going to say or do?

I shrug. "You should have seen him last night, raving like a crazy guy, screaming his lungs out. . . ." I finally look over at him, my eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you saw him?" He'd better not try to get out of this one. I'm not stupid. I'll know if he tries to lie.

But he sighs in resignation. "A couple of weeks ago," he admits. He walks over to the couch, plopping down on one end of it and draping an arm across the back. "He comes around, and we just kinda . . . hang out and talk. Generally, if he's not with you, he's with me."

I snort in derision, following him to the couch. "So that's the great Seph, the guy you were always praising up and admiring," I mutter. This is ridiculous. Why is everything happening at once? Why are you in my house? Why am I finding out that you're Zack's friend? Why are you friends with him in the first place?! Why doesn't Zack hate you?

Zack leans forward, putting his arms on his legs and lacing his fingers. He just watches me, like he's expecting me to say something else. And I've got plenty to say!

"You never did want to talk about him after you started really throwing yourself into the whole military thing," I remind him. "I asked you about him a few months after that, when you came to the Olympus Coliseum and I was battling there. You got really quiet and said he had left, but you wouldn't say anything else." I narrow my eyes at him. "What kind of a guy was he, really, to just desert you like that? What kind of a friend is that?! And what about his military duties?!"

Zack just sighs, shaking his head. "Cloud . . ." He looks firmly into my eyes. "Him leaving was beyond his control. I really can't say what happened . . . just that he didn't want to go." He pauses. "Unlike you, I might add."

I glower at him. "Don't try to change the subject!" I know it's true, anyway, about me wanting to leave. I'd just . . . I'd gotten so sick of everything and confused about myself, and I wanted to go away for a while in order to try to find the answers. Zack had been involved a lot with military assignments then, and I hadn't wanted to bother him or anyone else with my problems. After all, they were mine, and I decided I should try to fix them myself. But it turns out I haven't done a good job of it.

Now I think about his other words, trying to make sense of them. You didn't want to go? Then why did you? Wait. . . . I peer at Zack suspiciously. "Was he just transferred somewhere else or something?"

Zack smirks weakly. "I guess . . . you could say that." That makes it sound like that's not it. And it does seem weird, if he wouldn't be able to tell me that. Even if you'd been sent on some secret mission then, it would be over now, wouldn't it? It wouldn't have to stay under wraps. Well . . . even if most people shouldn't know, I think Zack would tell me if it was only that. He knows he can trust me to keep something quiet.

He shakes his head slowly. "If you'd been in Hollow Bastion then, you would have heard things . . . not the truth, but what was being used as truth." His voice is more quiet now. He sounds far away, lost in the past. He doesn't sound happy about it, either.

"Okay. Now you're just acting weird. Did he go AWOL or something?"

"No!" Zack shoots back quickly, firmly. He sits up straight. "Seph would never have done that."

"Well, what then?" I retort irritably. "And don't you know about the way he's treated me?" You're not as great as he thinks. But . . . Zack's already said he does know about what's gone on with you and I. How can he still want to be friends with you? You're not worth his time.

Zack nods, looking serious. "I know, Cloud. Look, I'm not going to say that what he's doing is right or wrong. Yeah, I think maybe he should do this differently, but he has a reason. . . ."

"Reason?!" I explode. "That's what everyone tells me!" I leap up from the couch, starting to pace the room. "Merlin says it too! So both you and he know, and I don't. And I'm the one Sephiroth is doing this to!" I throw my hands into the air. A reason, my foot! I can't believe Zack is saying this to me! I expected it from Merlin, or maybe even you, but not Zack. The next words are leaping out of my mouth before I really think about what I'm saying. "You're just making an excuse for him because he's your friend!"

"That's not true." Now Zack gets up as well, walking over to me. An edge is in his voice, and I can tell he's not happy with me. I frown, looking back to him. Zack hardly ever shows any signs of being visibly upset with anyone, so I know he must be pretty ticked at me now. Well, that's just fine. He's not my favorite person right now either!

"Cloud, I don't make excuses for people even if they are my friends." He stands in front of me, his arms crossed. "Sephiroth has made a lot of mistakes in his life. He knows that I've never condoned some of the stuff he's done. He doesn't expect it from me. But whatever he does, he's still my friend." Now his gaze turns scrutinizing. I don't think I'm going to like whatever he'll say next.

"You're no different, Cloud. You've screwed up yourself, and have I ever made excuses for you?"

I glower at him. "Since when is this about me?!"

"Just humor me." His stance and expression doesn't change.

"Then, no," I mutter, knowing where he's going with this.

Zack nods approvingly. "I don't treat one friend any different from another. Look, I'd tell you everything about Seph's reasons, if I could. Seph himself is bound to secrecy. All I can really say is that I know it's hard for you to believe, but Seph's trying to help you." His voice is back down to its normal tones, and he lays a hand on my shoulder.

I know I must be gawking at him. What? What kind of garbage have you been feeding him?! You're trying to _help_ me?! That's not possible. You would never help anyone!

. . . Why did you test me during our last battle? Why did you act like you were trying to help me overcome my darkness in the end? You said you hadn't wanted Tifa there because I needed to know if I'd stop myself from killing out of hate, even without anyone else around. Why are you always contradicting yourself and messing with my head?!

Outwardly, my shoulders are slumping. Suddenly I'm just too tired to yell anymore. Too tired and too confused. You always like to wear me down, too, don't you?

Zack relaxes. I guess he realizes that at least for now, the fight's gone out of me. "Just think about it, calmly, and then talk to him," he directs. "Don't flip your lid, and maybe you'll actually learn something."

"Yeah, like that I'm a bigger idiot than I thought."

He laughs. "Highly possible," he says with a smirk. "But hopefully you'll learn more than that."

I give him a Look. "You really wear me out."

He blinks at me with a mock innocent expression. "That's funny. I was just thinking the same about you."

"Ha ha."

* * *

I leave the house and just walk around the town for a while, letting my feelings and emotions cool down. Nobody really stops to talk to me, but that's normal. A lot of people in Hollow Bastion either don't think much of me or they just don't care. Maybe my bat wing helps to scare a lot of them off and they figure I've become some kind of monster. Sometimes I retract it, but I usually don't bother. What would be the point, since they already know it's there?

I've always got people who'll stand by me, like Tifa and Aerith and Leon, and Zack. It doesn't matter to me if I'm an outcast to most. And right now I'm just fine with being given the cold shoulder. I'm not in any mood to socialize. I've got too much to think about. You and Zack saw to that.

By the time I get back, it's late and dark. Zack is on the porch when he sees me coming. He looks over, smirking.

"Thought maybe I was gonna need to look for you," he says as I come up the steps. "No telling what might happen with those dragons possibly being loose." He gives me a stern look, and I can see that he's been worried. "The last thing we need is for you to be laid up too!" Before I know it's coming, he whacks me on the head with the palm of his hand.

"Hey!" I glower at him.

"Don't do that again!" he scolds, as if he's talking to a kid.

"Don't worry, _Dad_," I mutter. Yeah, yeah. I did something stupid. I know.

I reach up, rubbing at the sore spot. "Is Sephiroth awake?"

Zack nods. "He dozed for a while, but he woke up again about an hour ago. I gave him some broth." He sobers, and I can see he's concerned for Sephiroth, too. "He's in pain, but he's not going to say so."

"The dragon tried to rip him apart," I say, unimpressed. "Of course he'll be in pain." I start to walk past him to the door. "Merlin's still not here, so I don't know what to do for him. A Tylenol probably wouldn't help much."

Zack follows me inside. "Are you going to talk to him? I didn't think you'd ask if he was awake unless you had a reason." He shuts the door behind us.

I roll my eyes. "You should know it's next to impossible to get anywhere with him. He always gives you a lot of doubletalk and never wants to make sense!"

He looks amused. "He makes sense to me, at least most of the time," he replies. "For me, it isn't hard to talk to him. I know what to say to get him to be willing to communicate. But it helps that he's my buddy and I know what he's really like." He holds up a hand when I'm about to say something else. "Yeah, I know how he's made you feel. But I'm not gonna go there. That's between him and you." He lays a hand on my shoulder. "And whatever happens, Cloud, just know that both of you will always be my best friends."

I watch him. Of course he's saying the truth. Zack has always been honest and loyal. It's probably been hard for him, to have been friends with both you and me---especially when he knows everything that's happened. Part of me still wants to say that Zack just is blind about you, but I should give him more credit than that. He's right, he does call things as he sees them. And it's because of his high regard for you that I'm willing to even try again to talk to you.

Finally I nod. "I know," I tell him, looking into his eyes.

Zack smiles, patting my shoulder as he goes past.

I sigh, turning to look at the bedroom door. Well, here goes nothing.

* * *

You're awake when I open the door, but you're staring through the wall. You look so tired---and not physically, either. That's not like how you usually are, when you're frustrating me so much. And it's not like the frenzy you've been in the last couple of days. It actually makes me just stop for a moment, looking at you. It's like you're a different person, when you're so worn out like this. You almost look normal. No, wait, I take it back. You could never be normal.

Now it's gone, and your face is impassive again. "What." Your voice is flat and cold, the way it often is when I get so annoyed with you.

I shut the door and walk over to the chair. "I always used to wonder about Zack's other best friend," I tell you. "He talked about 'Seph' all the time---the missions they went on, the trouble they got into, how 'Seph' would try to help the other soldiers in his no-nonsense, tough, but kind way. . . . Zack would say he thought of you like his brother, same as he said he thought about me." I sit down, narrowing my eyes at you.

"And then, suddenly, he never wanted to talk about 'Seph' again. He looked broken down when I asked about his old friend, and just mumbled something about 'Seph' going away. I never could figure it out. Maybe I should have looked more into it. I was just too caught up in my self-pity and my anger to really even think about what Zack was going through." I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees. I'm disgusted with myself for that. Why didn't I really see how much Zack was hurting? And why did I just say that to you? It's not your business and you don't need to know it!

"I'm surprised you'd admit that."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't rub it in.

"He said now that there were stories around town about what'd happened to 'Seph.'" I keep looking at you, glowering, accusing. "Even though your name's 'Sephiroth', even though it could be shortened to 'Seph', I never connected the dots. I just never dreamed Zack's friend, the guy he admired so much, could ever be you."

"I never wanted you to realize it."

Well, thanks for your honest, to-the-point answer, for once!

"Zack said you're not supposed to tell why you're hanging around me." I frown at you as you just lay against the pillows. You're unfazed.

"I'm not."

"But Zack knows." I look at you suspiciously.

"I felt the need to inform him. Strictly speaking, I shouldn't have done it."

"Then why did you?" I ask crossly.

You shrug. Okay, so we're back to getting nowhere again. I just have to remember to be calm . . . calm. . . . I'd better change the subject.

"It's not normal for people to have wings." When I thought you were part of me, I figured that's why you had them. But I never did figure out the answer to that question you asked, about why you would have wings that usually symbolize light while I have a wing that generally means darkness. You acted like it was part of the "yin-yang" concept---no one being all good or all bad. But that doesn't answer how you got them.

"You have one."

"I didn't always."

"I know."

I glare at you. "And I guess you know how and why too, don't you?" Even though I've never told anyone. Not even Zack knows how it happened. I'm too disgusted and ashamed to tell him, or anyone.

"No."

You . . . don't? I peer at you, suspicious again. You're probably trying to confuse me by saying what I'd least expect! I'm sick of you doing that! But . . . you look like you mean it. Yeah, like you always mean it, whenever you're saying something intended to bug me!

Calm . . . calm. . . .

"Zack told me you didn't always have the wing," you say flatly. "He was worried about you and he figured you'd never tell him about it." You pause, but I don't know if it's for effect or because you're not sure you want to say whatever else you're thinking. But when have you ever hesitated to say anything?! That's one of the things I hate so much about you---the way you're so blunt, always knowing exactly what to say to drive me nuts!

"Frankly, he wondered if you'd been experimented on."

I freeze. I guess it shouldn't really surprise me, that Zack would think of that. But I can't help it, it ticks me off that he was talking all about me with you!

"Were you?" I find myself asking. "Experimented on, I mean." It would sure explain where you disappeared to, and why Zack didn't want to say anything. Maybe you'd either been taken by some mad scientist nut, or else you were recovering from it.

"I wasn't."

Still with the matter-of-fact answers! And you keep managing to get me more confused every time you open your mouth! You really never do change, even if you're trying to be honest. _If _you are. I have no way of knowing if anything you're saying is actually the case! But Zack would probably say I need to try trusting you, even just once.

"Did you always have wings, then?" I'm trying to keep from sounding puzzled. I've heard that there's some kind of rare humanoids that just have wings naturally, but I've never met one or heard of anyone who's met one. And I don't remember Zack ever saying that "Seph" had any wings.

"I didn't."

"And you're not going to tell me what happened, are you?" I glare at you again.

"Are you going to tell me where your wing came from?"

"No."

"Then why should I tell you anything?"

"Because . . ." Great, you actually are making sense now. And you've got me tongue-tied! Well, I'm not going to let you have a victory. "Because I'm sick of you always hanging around, bothering me, and I think I have a right to know something about you!"

You lean back, obviously amused. "I don't particularly want to be around you either, Cloud. But for reasons of which I'm not at liberty to disclose, we're stuck with each other indefinitely."

Oh well, that's just terrific! So the mystery continues, and so will this never-ending nightmare.

"Zack said . . . he said that you're trying to help me." And I still can't comprehend it.

Your expression doesn't change. "Did you believe him?"

"How can I believe that?!" I explode. "It's nuts!"

"So Zack is a liar then?"

"Don't put words in my mouth!" I can hear the extra edge that's slipped into my voice. "Of course he wouldn't be lying! But you probably would! You'd probably take advantage of how much he honestly cares about you!" And that would be pretty sick! Zack's the kind of guy who makes friends easily and who always sticks by them. Anyone he thinks of as a pal has a really big honor. I feel like I blew it myself, when I was thoughtless in the past and didn't consider Zack's feelings. I don't want to see anyone else acting that way, accidentally or deliberately.

Now your eyes narrow, and it almost looks like anger is flickering in them. "Don't talk about things that you have no knowledge of," you say darkly. Why are you irritated that I said that? Are you really Zack's friend? Could you possibly care about him the way he cares about you? Could his friendship really mean anything to you?

I slump back in the chair. "This isn't going well," I mutter. I was crazy if I thought it would. We'll never be able to talk in peace.

"Honestly, Cloud, it isn't only my fault."

I hate that it's true. I haven't been acting like the most agreeable person. But I just don't know how to try to get along with you. Every time I attempt it, I end up losing my temper instead.

". . . Even if you're trying to help me, why would you?"

"I wouldn't, if I wasn't bound by it. You don't even want anyone's help. You would rather try to do everything by yourself." You cross your arms on your chest, slowly, painstakingly.

"You're no different."

You ignore that. "As for your question, I previously gave you some indication of the possible reasons. You actually guessed one of them yourself." You give me a bored look. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten it."

Yeah, of course I haven't. That'd be impossible. ". . . You acted like you were testing me, that you were actually trying to get me to control my darkness." And I've never understood it! Especially when I've always felt like you've been trying to do just the opposite.

You just nod slowly. I guess that's all the answer I'm going to get.

"So basically, you're stuck all the time with me, messing with my head and driving me crazy, and you don't have a choice," I say sarcastically. "And to top it off, you're trying to 'help' me." I narrow my eyes at you. "Zack didn't put you up to this, did he? Some weird way of keeping tabs on me wherever I go?"

"We're the same rank. He couldn't make me do something like this for him."

Of course, of course. I don't really believe Zack would do that, and I can see you don't think I believe it. I was just being sardonic again. And you're just being frustrating.

"Why would anyone want you to hang around, spying on me?!" I burst out.

You look at me. "Sometimes I wonder."

Yeah, great. Thanks. "Do I ever get to know?"

"If it was up to me, No. But since it isn't, I honestly couldn't say." You don't look impressed. "You need to learn patience, Cloud."

"Patience?!" I retort, and I know my voice is rising again. "_Patience?!_ Well, that's easy for you to say!"

"Not always." You're giving me a bored, annoyed stare. "It's not especially easy right now."

Sigh. I slump back in the chair. So this is something I'm just going to have to get used to. I guess that means I'm going to have to learn how to tolerate you. I just wish I knew what kind of an ulterior motive you might have for this. Who put you up to it, and why? You don't seem like the kind of person who would answer to just anyone. You seem like someone who would want to be in complete control. And you're so serious and cold. How did Zack even get close to you? I know he makes friends easy, but _you?_

"Sephiroth . . ."

"What."

"Why does Zack like you?"

You smirk once more. "Why does he like any of the people he picks to be friends with? Why does he like _you_?"

. . . Touché. Again.

I hate when you have a point.


	7. If I Had Died

**Notes: Just a warning, this chapter is slightly graphic as Sephiroth remembers in detail what the dragon did to him.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

It's been a week now, since Zack arrived. Luckily, you've seemed calmer since then, for the most part.

I can feel that my body is healing, although it's a slow process. The skin seems to be gradually growing back together, but there are still times when the pain suddenly flares up. I am still incredibly weak, and moreso than I would like, especially when I'm in your house. I despise showing you how invalid I am.

Yesterday I forced myself to attempt standing without assistance. It only worked for several seconds before the vertigo assumed control and my legs gave out. Then I found myself kneeling on the floor, clutching my side and breathing heavily. My vision swam furiously out of focus, and for several moments I wondered if I was going to fall forward in a dead swoon.

And no, Cloud, I didn't---nor did I tear anything open. Whether that was because of dumb luck or because Merlin's paste is working as it should, I couldn't say.

Somehow I managed to climb back onto the bed, though I imagine it helped that it's low to the floor. I knelt on it briefly, leaning forward with my hands gripping the quilt, until the pain subsided. Then I lowered myself onto my right side. From there I rolled onto my back, gazing at the ceiling.

I wanted, and still want, to be free of this, to be able to go where I please and to not stay here. But of course, you desire it also. I'm certain you still abhor keeping me in your home.

If you know I tried to get up, you say nothing. Neither does Zack. Though I have a hard time imagining you keeping quiet, if you became aware of my failed attempt. I could envision it easier from Zack, as he would most likely assume that I have "learned my lesson" and that he would not need to speak to me about it.

I don't know if I will ever fly again. My main wing has been wrapped in gauze and feels extremely stiff. I remember the dragon's claws raking through it, tearing into the feathers and sending them everywhere as it dug mercilessly through the skin. I was unable to move at all, and getting away was out of the question. It was crushing my already-damaged lower wing at the same time. At that moment, the only way to get free would have been to tear my limb completely out of its socket. And I doubt even I could have succeeded with that deplorable task, even if I had decided to attempt it.

I can feel that wing, but sometimes only vaguely. It always pains me, though it's often a dull ache---and then there are the times when it only feels numb. Then the splint on it is about all that I can sense, and it's as a heavy weight binding me down. I honestly don't think it will ever heal properly, even if the bones do grow back together.

Sometimes I dream about what happened to me. It's always very detailed and graphic, from the dragon's first attempt to send me out of the sky to when I finally succeeded in delivering the killing strike. It took several of my Send Heartless Angel attacks, as well as many deep slices from the Masamune, to bring it down. And always, in every incubus, the pain is excruciating and real.

Again I can feel its hot breath against my face, nearly burning me. Its large, clubbed tail strikes me, causing me to unnaturally soar several yards to crash unceremoniously on the ground again. It takes hold of my lower right wing in its strong teeth, dragging me furiously and violently across the cold, often jagged, ground as it runs through the canyons. Then it lets go with an angry toss of its massive head, and I crash in a sorry heap against the bottom of another mountain.

I struggle to get up again, clutching desperately at my sword, my badly torn wing throwing me off-balance. I lunge, managing to get a good hit to its shoulder, and another to its left foreleg, before it takes to the sky again as a means of escape---and, it probably hopes, the advantage.

But I rise as well, using only my main wing, and our combat resumes in mid-air. It blasts at me with fire that I succeed in dodging, and I retaliate with my pyro assault. It is hit suddenly, and is stunned, and I use the opportunity to drive my blade deeply into its back as I fly forward. Then it roars, striking me once more with its deadly tail and sending me to the ground.

I crash onto my back, gasping in pain as the breath leaves my lungs. My injured wing also slams down, and the resulting fire is so intense that I can't think of anything except it. It's as if innumerable swords, spears, and daggers have rained into it all at once, restraining it to the ground.

The dragon is there in an instant, deliberately ensnaring me in place by stomping on the wing it already partially broke by clenching it in its ugly mouth. Now it holds the limb in place, beginning to contriturate the bones. I can feel them snapping, being crushed, and it's more than I can bear. I scream in sheer, uncontrollable anguish. I have to wonder, Would having the wing gone be anywhere as agonizing as this? I never wanted it in the first place. But somehow, now that I'm faced with losing it, I want it to remain.

The beast knows it's hurting me. This pleases it, and with one swipe of another terrible clawed foot, the feathers on my other right wing go flying in all directions, as well as blood. I can't get away, and as it looks down into my eyes with its own, glowing red orbs, a rare fear shoots through me as an arrow. I'm trapped. It's going to kill me by tearing me apart. I'm going to feel every rake of its talons, every gnaw of its teeth, every breath of flames, until it rips out my heart---if I even last that long. Who knows what it might extract first. The shock, the anguish, might prove to be too much.

But it still underestimates me. I will not be a slave to my increasing panic! I still have my sword, and suddenly, as it raises its leg for another strike, I cut the blade deeply into the bottom of its foot. It howls, the cries ringing through the air and through my ears, and I slash again, and again. I'm not thinking of anything now but the desire to be let up, to get away. I will not die like this!

It steps off of my lower wing, which is hopelessly mangled by now. In retaliation it digs deeply into my chest, more of my blood flying from its claws. It almost feels like it's scratching my ribs. I'm not expecting it at all, but I'm struggling not to scream, not to give it that satisfaction again. Instead I use Send Heartless Angel once more, and at such close range, it proves disastrous for the beast. It stumbles back, roaring with almost a wailing tone, and the scent of burning flesh hangs in the air.

I struggle to get up, holding my weapon high as I lunge again. It plunges thoroughly into the creature's chest. Surely I've pierced its heart. Surely this is over . . . ! Its eyes widen as I withdraw the blade, and with a trembling paw it bats roughly at me. It's weak now, but even so, it manages to send me back several feet, wounding me in the side with its claws. Behind me, I can hear it give one last cry before it falls. It doesn't get up.

It's dead, but I'm going to die too.

I don't know how long I lay here. My wounds have grown numb by this point, but I can still feel the blood trickling from my wings, my chest, and my side. Every now and then, the substance rises in my throat as well, and I gasp and choke as I try to get it out. I turn my head to the side, and I can feel it running down my face to pool on the ground.

It isn't the first time I've had to simply lay and wait for death to strike. My demise several years earlier flashes through my mind again. I remember the numbing pain, the fading senses. . . . Someone found me, right before I passed away. Is that fated to happen this time, as well? Yes . . . it seems that it will.

I can hear the footsteps approaching, a familiar voice gasping in shock and horror as what's left of my body is witnessed. I can sense someone is there, I can tell that I am looking at the person, but I do not know who it is. It seems as though it's someone I should know, someone to whom my life is closely connected, even if I do not wish it.

No . . . it can't be you. . . .

But I suddenly know it is. You speak to me, and I use the rest of my strength to respond. And just as suddenly as the recognition comes, it's gone again, and everything is dissipating. I can't see, or hear. I can't feel. My body gives out on me. I am no more.

My spirit lives on. I'm falling, plunging deep into the catacombs of the earth. But instead of getting warmer, I'm freezing. My velocity is increasing and I can't even spread my wings; they're encrusted in crystal. I'm going to crash into the molten rock . . . unless there is never an end. Maybe I will be falling forever.

Something is encircling me again. Somehow I know that it will never let me go. The cold, cruel talons, and the feeling of being enveloped are ice, are back. Pain rips through my wounds again, even though physical injuries shouldn't exist now. The creature I met in the in-between place has returned, to drag me down to Hell.

My eyes fly open. I am breathing harshly, my bangs plastered against my skin as I stare up at the ceiling. One hand is desperately against my wounded chest. The other is on my battered lower wing.

You are looking down at me, frustration obvious in your eyes. "You're not dead, okay?" you snap.

I focus on you, the unkind tones in your voice dragging me back to the present. Yes . . . I am still alive. It was only a dream, a nightmarish reliving of what took place over a week ago. This is not the first time I've awakened to your sharp words, your exasperated glare. But now I see something else in your eyes, something I wasn't expecting at all.

You look helpless. You don't know how to aid me, and that aggravates you. And somehow I know---you are not angry at me right now. You are angry at yourself.

Zack comes in now as well, the worry obvious in his lavender eyes. "Oh Seph . . ." He walks around to the left side of the bed, bending over me so that he's looking right into my own eyes. "Hey, you okay?"

My hands drop back to the bed. I feel foolish now. I always allow these dreams to get to me, even though it's ridiculous. When I'm asleep, I can't tell truth from fiction. Once again I believe that everything is currently occuring, that there is not any way out. I believe that I am dying once more, that I will never be restored.

I look away from both you and Zack. "I'm fine," I answer in a monotone. I don't like being fussed over like this. It's humiliating. By reacting so strongly to these dreams, I'm behaving like a child.

You snort and mutter, turning to leave the room.

Zack lingers, laying a hand gently on my bare shoulder. I tense at the action, but soon relax. While I don't care for physical contact with others, I allow Zack to touch me at times. He knows that I only accept it sparingly, and he respects that.

His gentle, nonjudgmental hand is comforting, whether I will admit it aloud or not.

* * *

It's a while later when you come back into the room. Zack has left now, having said something about fixing dinner. Knowing him, he may have mainly wanted to give us a chance to talk. You shut the door, leaning against it as a weary expression graces your features.

"That nightmare must be pretty vivid," you comment. "You have it a lot."

I can see you're making an effort to be kind. But I don't know whether Zack put you up to it or whether you decided it on your own. I suppose that I should also attempt to be more civil. Though, I have been lately, but I still have the ability to drive you nearly out of your mind.

I study you. "It is vivid, especially since its contents are what actually happened to me. Have you ever seen someone get mauled by an animal, Cloud?"

Your eyes narrow. "Yeah, in the Olympus Coliseum." You grip your arms tighter. "This idiot was trying to demonstrate his control over some kind of dragon. Turned out he didn't have as much control as he thought, and no one could help him." You look over at me. "There wasn't too much left by the time that thing was done. You're actually pretty lucky. At least you still ended up in one piece."

I know that's true. I definitely wondered if anything would be torn off before the beast was through with me. If it had been given the chance, I'm certain it would have taken it.

"That was because I was smart enough to know how to fight it," I answer.

My gaze drifts back to my lower right wing. It could have ended up entirely pulverized. I'm still not certain what it looks like now, under the splints. The few pieces visible look ragged and limp.

"Your wing might not heal." You come over to the chair, slowly, and sit down, observing it and me.

"It might not."

You're silent for a moment. "Would it bother you, if you couldn't fly anymore?"

That's a good question. I've thought about it quite a bit over the past few days. "I don't know." I lean back into the pillows. "I never wanted these wings. They were a curse. But as long as I do have them, I want them to work properly."

You watch me, seeming to be putting a good deal of thought into what you want to say. "If they don't, would you want them removed?"

Heh. Would it even be allowed, to have them taken off? I might be struck down by lightning. And as far as I know, this body was designed specifically with them in mind. Maybe nothing would work, if the wings were amputated. "Would you want yours removed, if this situation were reversed?" I return.

You blink in surprise at having the subject turned to you. "I never really thought about it before," you admit. "I hate this wing. I don't know that I've ever gotten used to it, like you have with yours."

You're still looking at my wings. "Why is it that we both have this?" you say now. "I used to think it was because we're really the same person, but now I know that's not true." I can see you're pointing at the flap of skin on my main wing that looks somewhat like the tip of a cartoon devil's tail. You have the same ornamentation on your sole wing.

I have puzzled over it as well, but I believe that now I have the correct answer. "It's probably a symbol of darkness," I tell you. "That would be logical. You and I have more in common than either one of us would like to believe."

You glower, but don't argue. ". . . Did your wings just suddenly appear out of nowhere?" You sound almost hesitant now, as if you wonder if you should be asking. Not that I would ever expect such doubts from you. You rarely seem to care about thinking before you speak.

"No, I wouldn't say that, exactly." My spirit just happened to be placed in a body that possesses these extra appendages. "Though I didn't know beforehand that I was going to have them." I had thought that I would probably be sent to Hell. Though, maybe they decided that what they've done to me would be the worst kind of Hell. That first year certainly did feel like it, when no one recognized me.

You lean back in the chair, crossing your arms as you stare at the floor. "I just woke up one morning and found that I had this thing," you mutter darkly. "It was when I'd left to be a traveling swordsman and went to the Olympus Coliseum. I think it was the morning after I agreed to work for Hades."

That would make sense. "Why did you, anyway?" It's something I've never actually understood.

You shrug helplessly. "I was angry . . . I was confused. . . . I'd been falling into my own darkness for some time before that. Nothing I tried could make it go away, and I guess . . . I just got desperate. Hades said he had the answers. And stupidly, I believed him." You slouch in the chair tiredly. "If it hadn't been for Sora, there's no telling where I'd be right now."

Now you look up again, your countenance expressing further confusion than previously. "But . . . if it came because of what I'd agreed to do back then, why isn't it gone now? I've tried to get my life in order. . . ."

I shake my head wearily. "Maybe it's there as a curse, a reminder." The same as mine. "Once you've fallen into dark paths, you can't repair what you've done. The memories of your actions will always haunt you, no matter how much you regret them, and how much you try to make recompense."

"Well, gee, thanks for the info. You're sure cheerful about it."

"Heh." I study you, taking in your exhaustion. It's not physical so much as mental. I've felt like that so many times, both before I died and afterwards.

"At least you still have a chance to try again," I tell you matter-of-factly. "Be grateful for it."

You blink, staring at me. "Are you saying you don't have that chance?" you demand.

"I didn't say that." Even though it's true. I'm not alive anymore, in a normal sense. What will happen to me when you die, I wonder? I suppose that depends on whether you die figuratively in the light or the dark. Maybe no matter if you give in to your hatred or not, I'll still be damned. Or maybe I'll wander in limbo. I can't help but remember what Death told me, that my fate had been left up to me. They probably hoped that I would lose the battle and be out of their way.

You sigh, muttering something in irritation about me being vague and secretive again. But you don't yell at me. You act like you're just too worn out to bother.

Who knows. Maybe we'll end up being able to get along in a relatively civil manner. Zack would be pleased.

. . . And then again, maybe we'll resume arguing after you're feeling rested.


	8. You Will Not Hear Me Say I'm Sorry

**Notes: Thanks to Lisa for her plot help!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

You've been here three weeks now.

You've started getting up by yourself when you can, even if you can only manage it for five minutes. Zack thinks you'll be getting restless soon, being mostly just in my room, and he said something about having gotten you a cane so that you can limp around the house when you're strong enough. He's leaned it on the nightstand so that you can get at it when you want it.

A normal person probably wouldn't even be able to get out of bed yet, if they managed to survive what you have. Yeah, I know all about your high endurance level, but even with that, you're still human . . . aren't you? And on the other hand, what human has wings, if they aren't gotten the same way I got this one? I just don't get it.

And I also don't get why I ended up spilling all that stuff to you about my wing. It's stuff I've never wanted to tell Zack. Why would I tell you? It's not as if I think Zack wouldn't understand. I know he would! It's just that I've never wanted him to know how far I fell. I'd feel like I let him down. You and I, I guess, have both already let ourselves down. . . .

I don't know how to explain this. Maybe there isn't any way to explain it. I just know that I never wanted to tell you any of this stuff either, and yet I suddenly felt like I wanted to tell someone. But obviously not just anyone, since I still don't want to tell Zack.

You know, I bet he knows anyway.

You're still not able to do some things for yourself. Changing the bandaging on your wounds is one of them, and it's never something I'm that crazy about doing. But at least you cooperate and don't make it more difficult, even though I know you still don't like being helped so much.

That's what I'm doing now.

"How does it look?" you ask, glancing over to where I'm looking at your main wing. You're laying down, as you usually do for this part of it.

I lift it a bit to show you, as well as to gently clean it. "It looks okay, I guess." The healing tear is still reddish, and delicate, but it's not bleeding anymore. There aren't any feathers growing around it yet, but maybe that'll come later. It will look weird if nothing ever grows over it, since it'll probably leave a long scar. I don't know if that would bother you or not. I don't really know anything that bothers you.

Except the suggestion that you don't take Zack's friendship seriously.

You nod slowly, leaning back into the pillow. You're deadpanning, as usual.

I take a damp cloth, running it over your wing. "I nearly got mauled once," I mutter. I don't know why I'm mentioning that, either. A few weeks ago, I never would have wanted to.

You raise an eyebrow. "When was that?"

You didn't know? Heh . . . I guess, even though I know you're not me, I forget sometimes that you don't know everything that's happened to me.

"It was after I fought Sora." I frown, patting your wing dry and bandaging it again. When I'm done, you slowly pull yourself into a sitting position to let me get at the gauze around your chest.

"I'd won, but . . . I knew I couldn't kill him. He was just a kid. So I just stood there, pointing my sword at his throat. . . . I think I was starting to re-evaluate everything going on in my life right then---what I was actually doing, why I'd agreed to do it, what was wrong with me for agreeing. . . ." I unwind the bandage, dropping it absently into the trash can at the side.

It looks like the claw marks are healing well, considering how deep they were. I want to block out the memory of thinking I could see bones from your ribs when it first happened. So I keep talking as I run another damp cloth over your chest.

"Hades realized I wasn't going to do it, so he sicced Cerberus on us both. I didn't even notice it was there at first, because it just suddenly showed up behind me. I remember turning and looking up at this . . . thing with three giant dog heads. Every one of its teeth was sharper and bigger than my buster sword, and when I saw them, I was sure I was going to die."

I dry the sore skin and start putting the new gauze around your chest and over your left shoulder, to hold it better in place. You're watching me, your eyes narrowed.

"The next thing I remember is waking up in a bed. . . . Hercules was there, and he said Cerberus had . . . well, that it had tried to eat me." In spite of myself, I shudder at the memory. I only barely remember, but that's enough. "It took me in its mouth in one chomp. I tried to hurt it with my sword, to make it let me go, but it wasn't having any of it." I shake my head. "It was Hercules who saved me."

I finish and move on to your side, repeating the process of unwinding the old bandaging.

"That really bothered me for a while. I mean, I'd been hired to get rid of the guy, and he goes and saves my life." I grip the gauze in my hands. "I just had the feeling that even if he'd known about the contract, he still would've helped me anyway."

"Does it still bother you?"

That's a good question. "Yeah . . . kinda. It's hard for me to think that anyone could be that kind . . . and yet I know Zack's that way, too."

"So are you," you say flatly. "You've been helping me."

I snort. "Zack, and Hercules, would do it without having any hard feelings. We both know that I've had plenty."

"You're just human, Cloud."

". . . What about you? Are you human?"

You raise an eyebrow again, like you're not sure whether I'm trying to take another dig at you or not. "What do you mean?"

"The way you've been healing so good." I look searchingly into your green eyes, but there aren't any answers to be found there. "I figure either your 'high endurance' really isn't exaggerated at all, and might even be understated, or that Merlin's magic and herbs are working overtime to help you." I give you a hard look. "Or that you aren't human."

You relax, an amused smile playing on your lips. "If I'm not human, then what am I?"

More avoiding the question! You never get tired of that, do you? And if your almost smug expression is any indication, you don't think I'm going to guess the answer. If there's one to guess.

"I don't know!" I explode.

You sigh, looking putout. Then you gaze off into the distance. "Maybe," you muse, "I'm too human."

But you don't give me any time to process that, or to ask you what it means. Instead you suddenly snap back, focusing your attention on the unwrapped cloth in my hands. "You're still holding that."

I look down at it, glowering at the dark red stains going across part of the strip. I toss it in the trashcan and look back at the wound. "It still looks bad," I tell you. "It's just not healing right. Were you laying on it again?" You've really tried not to, but there have been a couple times when I've come in and you're asleep, half on your left side. It's like it's a habit you just can't resist, when you're not awake.

"Not to my knowledge." You don't look too happy about the news, or about me finding it, but you don't say anything as I start cleaning and rebandaging it.

It's harder to take care of than your chest. Two of your wings are in the way, since they grow out of your lower back. Every time I bring the gauze around, I have to take it either over or under those wings. And it's even more difficult since the right one's in those splints. But I get it fixed, like I've always managed to do. And that means I'm done.

I start gathering up the stuff to take out. You watch me, sinking back down into the mattress as I head for the door.

"Cloud . . ."

I glance back. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

I think I'm staring at you. You're thanking me? Have you ever done that before?

. . . Somehow I think you mean it for more than just taking care of you today. I think you mean for all of it, all the times I've come in and done something for you, and the fact that I've let you stay here at all.

I think you mean _"Thank you for helping me to live."_

I nod slowly, heading out.

* * *

I guess I must've fallen asleep on the couch. I don't remember doing that, but suddenly I'm getting woke up by a knock on the front door. "Come in," I mumble, even though I'm not sure anyone can hear me say it. I sit up slowly, rubbing at my eyes. Ugh. I'm more tired now than I was when I laid down. Though on the other hand, how would I really know, since I can't remember laying down? I guess it just feels like I must be more tired than before. I feel like I'm going to go right back to sleep.

The door opens slowly and Tifa walks in. "Hey," she says quietly, "how are you doing?"

"Fine," I answer. This time I don't know if she can hear because I'm speaking through a yawn.

She comes over to the couch, sitting down by me. "I was hoping you'd be able to get more sleep, with Zack around," she remarks worriedly.

"I am," I tell her truthfully. Honestly, without Zack here, I'd probably be getting half the rest I am now. Maybe even less. He always tries to make sure he leaves time for you and me to talk, I guess because he wants to see us straighten out our differences, but he's always around to take over when he can see that I'm just too worn out. It works out good that way. You and he are always happy to spend time together.

. . . Heh. It sounds weird to talk about you and being happy in the same sentence.

And it's still strange sometimes, watching you interact with Zack. It's almost like you're a different person then. You're so calm and relaxed, matching wits with ease. I can always see you're really enjoying yourself. You never try to hide it. He really is your friend, isn't he?

"I heard that he's going to be stationed on the base here from now on," she says now, bringing me back to the present.

I nod. "Yeah, that's right. He has a house there, just off the base grounds."

She smiles a bit. "I think that will be good for you," she declares. "You've always seemed . . . I don't know, more relaxed when he' around."

I just shrug. It's true, I guess. I know I've really missed him all these years. But it's my own fault that we've been apart. He usually watched me from afar when I left, but several times he did try to reach out to me and I just wasn't ready to accept it. I hate myself for that, for being stupid and for causing him a lot of pain. And I really messed things up for myself.

She hesitates. "How are you getting along with Sephiroth?" she asks finally. I've talked to her once or twice in the past weeks, and she knows now about you being Zack's friend and that you're supposedly trying to help me. She hasn't talked to you, though. Both times you've been sleeping.

"We haven't killed each other," I say flatly. "That should say something."

She nods slowly. She usually doesn't play off of my sarcasm, like you and Zack do. "It must still be strange, knowing that he's Zack's friend." It's like she read my thoughts.

"I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that," I tell her. "It's so weird. I can see that Zack really does mean something to him; it's not just one-sided. The only time he's ever really gotten mad at me while he's been here is when I suggested that he doesn't care about Zack."

"Wow." She just sits there for a bit, thinking it over. "I guess . . . he's not so inhuman after all."

"He isn't." And I can't believe I'm saying it. "Merlin said he's just a man. It looks like it's true. Yeah, he's an annoying creep, but he's not the devil incarnate." I lean back into the couch, crossing my arms.

"Aerith said that if he's really trying to help you, maybe you could learn how to be friends with him someday," Tifa says after another silence.

I look over at her in shock. Oh, let's not go overboard! "Friends?" I repeat incredulously. "With him?" I shake my head emphatically. "I know Aerith's an optimist, but that's crazy! I still can't stand the guy. He still feels the same about me, too." I take a deep breath. Calm, calm. . . .

"The most Aerith could hope for is that we'll keep being civil," I say now, looking away. "It's just . . . kind of an unspoken agreement because of him being in my house . . . and because Zack's our mutual friend."

I look at her out of the corner of my eye. She nods again, acting impressed that I'd try to do that because of Zack.

"How is he doing?" she asks now.

"Better than most people would be," I answer. "He's already trying to get up. Sometimes he actually does."

As if to echo my words, something crashes in the bedroom. I glare at the door. "And it sounds like now I'll have to go get him up," I mutter. "He probably fell down."

I get up and walk to the door, opening it. Tifa follows, coming to my side and looking in too. You're standing there by the bed, leaning on your left side with that cane, and you're frowning in annoyance at the tipped-over chair. You look like you're in pain, but your long hair falls into your face and hides your expression. You can't hide the shudder that passes through your body.

"I thought you'd probably tripped over the chair," I say flatly, "or your own wings." Since the lower ones are hanging to the floor again. I guess you're too worn out to even raise the left one. You usually do try to keep the right one at least a few inches off the floor, though, so it won't drag and get hurt worse.

You grunt. "The chair was in my way." Well, that's typical. It was in your way, so you knocked it over. At least, that's your excuse, because you don't want to admit that you probably started to fall. You limp forward, using the cane for balance. It's a slow process, but you make it over to the door without anything going wrong. Wow, it's a miracle.

Tifa steps back as your wings sweep past. "I'm . . . glad to see you're doing better," she says at last. She acted like she wasn't sure what to say, and even though she's uncomfortable now, I think she's sincere.

You look up at her, like you're having a hard time believing she really means it. Maybe you think she's just trying to be polite. "Why?" you ask then.

I guess it's a good question. Why should Tifa care about what happens to you? She hasn't even had any association with you, except when she interrupted our last battle. And she's only heard me talk about you not being all bad, she hasn't seen it herself.

She looks taken aback at first, I guess because most people would just accept that without asking why. But then, you're the farthest thing from "most people."

Now she gathers her thoughts. "Because no one deserves to die like that," she finally says.

"Heh." You shrug, acting like you want to go past us into the living room. I move aside, followed by Tifa, and you limp by.

Tifa bites her lip, her eyes focused on your lower right wing. I can see she's still horrified by what happened to it, but she doesn't say anything, I guess to be polite. She looks like she wonders if you'll ever fly again.

"Well," I say now, "so that's how he's doing."

She nods slowly. "You've really been good to him, Cloud," she muses.

I just snort. "I guess," I answer noncommittally. I still don't like being made to feel that I'm doing something noble. It just doesn't seem that way to me.

"I mean it," she insists. "I still think it's really admirable that you'd do this for someone you don't even like."

"You're probably saying that mainly because you don't like him either," I point out. "But you would have probably done the same for him." I cross my arms, watching you half-limp, half-shuffle around the living room before sinking down wearily on the couch. I'm sure you can hear us, even though now we've lowered our voices, but you don't do anything to show that you're hearing. You probably don't care, anyway. You sure know that you're not well thought-of, at least. Heck, you almost flat-out encourage it.

"Yeah . . . I probably would have," Tifa remarks. "And I would have lectured him a lot about how he's treated you."

Now that would have been something to see.

* * *

You go back in your room after a few minutes, and Tifa and I talk in the living room for a while longer before she needs to leave. And it's when I'm walking back from shutting the door that I hear another crash, a bigger crash. Great. Now what did you do, knock over the chest of drawers?

I go over to the door, flinging it open. "You'd better not try this when I'm trying to sleep," I threaten, but then forget it when I see what happened. The chair's on the floor again, and so are you. You're sprawled over the stupid thing, your arms and legs and wings all tangled up in it.

I can feel my eye twitching as I storm inside, bend down, and grab your arm. "I knew you shouldn't be getting up!" I snap, draping it roughly over my shoulders. "You were up too long, too fast. So you're healing better than most people. Does that make you think you can do anything?!" I bring my other arm around your lower back, harshly again, and try to lift you. You resist, weakly gripping the seat of the chair, and I'm just getting more ticked off at you!

"You've probably torn open all your wounds, at least your side! And you've probably messed up that bum wing of yours! Do you want to be down even longer? Do you want to cripple yourself? If you can't ever use that wing, it's like being crippled, isn't it? Why do you always have to be so _stubborn?!_ And quit hanging on to the chair and let me _help you!_"

You're quiet for a long time, or it seems like it, anyway. I'm standing here, trying to support you, and you're just refusing to get up. You're letting me yell at you instead!

"Cloud . . ."

"What is it?!" I bark.

"Shut up."

You're telling _me_ to shut up? You come in here near-death, so I have to take care of you, and every time there's a step forward, it's like you go two steps back. Now you've been acting stupid, over-exerting yourself, knocking over my furniture, and getting tied up with it! And you won't even let me help you up! You and your stupid pride!

. . . I guess I'm holding onto you pretty tightly. I can feel you sagging against me, and every now and then you jerk like you're in pain. And . . . your lower right wing's still twisted around the chair legs, somehow. If I'd pulled you up really fast, like I'd wanted to, _I_ probably would have hurt it worse. Not to mention I might've ripped something open, like I was yelling at you for probably doing.

I let go of you slowly, slumping back onto the floor. I curse under my breath, running a hand through my hair. "It looks like I'm an idiot again," I mutter.

You sigh, going limp over the chair. After a minute you start pushing yourself up, trying to kneel. "I already know quite well everything you've said," you say in a flat tone. Once you're upright, you get your wing unhooked from the chair and grab for your cane and the edge of the bed.

I just watch you slowly pull yourself up. You're probably doing a better job than I could, if I tried to help you.

"I know I'm a burden on you."

I frown, trying to see your face. It's hidden by your hair again.

"I despise relying on anyone, oppressing them with my needs." You sink down onto the mattress, spreading your lower wings carefully along the edge of it. "When possible, I want to repay such debts. But I don't know how to repay you, Cloud." Now you look over at me, and in the twilight I can see the frustration in your eyes.

"You've given me your home, your bed, so I can recover. You've given up much of your time to take care of me, and it's really only when Zack's here that you have any relief. You help me around the house on bad days, when I can't make it up by myself. You change the bandaging on my wounds almost daily, which I know is deplorable to you." You shake your head slowly. "Anything you possibly can do for me, you've done. I've never owed such a debt to a rival, especially after I've made him believe that I'm a vicious nemesis."

I just stare at you. I don't think I really know what to say. I mean, before today, before you actually thanked me and before this experience, I wondered a lot if you really cared about everything I've tried to do for you. I wondered if it really meant anything to you and if you really knew at all how hard it's been for me. You never said anything or showed that you understood; you mostly just did your own thing, and exasperated me by pulling stunts like this one tonight.

Finally I start to stand up, bringing the chair with me. I set it up again and then plop into it wearily. What do I even say to you?

"I never thought about getting a reward for this," I say finally. "I just . . . did it, and wanted it to be over. Yeah, it's been Hell, having you live here. I've hated it. But . . ."

You look at me, like you're confused by the pause. I am too, kinda.

. . . Sometimes I actually haven't minded so much that you're around. The times we've talked civilly have been pretty good. I usually end up understanding you a bit better, and it actually feels good to get some of this stuff off my chest. It seems like you can relate a lot, and that makes it easier for me, to know that I'm not alone in these feelings.

But I'm not going to say any of this to you.

"Look," I start over, "you're Zack's friend. I still don't like you a lot, but I know now that you've got some good points or he wouldn't care about you so much. If anything happens to you, he'll be devastated. So . . ." I straighten up, looking you in the eyes. "The only 'reward' I want is for you to get better. Not just because I want my bed back. I want it mainly for Zack's sake. And I don't want to see you doing more than you should and getting yourself hurt more. Just . . . try to be more careful. That's all I'm asking."

You look at me for a long time, like you're thinking it all over. I can't tell at all what's going through your mind.

But finally you nod. "Fair enough." You pause yourself. "For Zack's sake, we can form a kind of truce from now on, can't we?"

"Yeah." I nod firmly, surprising myself by agreeing so fast. Heh. Maybe because it's been on my mind lately, especially after what Tifa said. Can you imagine, though? Us forming a truce at all, Zack or no Zack. I never would have believed this before. I can just see his knowing smirk. I think he'd be kinda touched, too, that we'd try this for him.

You hold out your hand. I just stare at it dumbly before realizing what you mean by it. Slowly I reach out too, taking hold of it.

We shake on the deal.


	9. Wonder If It's Weeping Somewhere

**Notes: Finally, I have reconciled my timeline with the Heartless attack on Hollow Bastion! It's a relief, as it's been bothering me for a while on how to fix it all together and keep the ages I wanted for the characters. Thanks to Lisa, as I bounced the ideas off of her!  
**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

I suppose I was just as surprised as you, if not more, at the suggestion of a truce. It has been on my mind for some time, but I hadn't found the proper time to mention it.

It requires both of us to sacrifice a certain amount of pride, and even several weeks ago I never would have considered it. I have disliked you very strongly, and maybe it's true that I haven't always seen you as your own person. Mostly I have seen you as a reflection of myself, and I've loathed that fact.

Now I've learned to respect you, in ways that I never thought I would or could. Would I have done the same if this situation was reversed? Would I have nursed you back to health after the dragon's assault? I suppose I would have been forced to, due to being bound to you. And like you, I would have done it grudgingly, at least at first. But even so, I wouldn't have wanted you to be hurt.

However, I have always known that you are Zack's friend. That has always been the main reason why I've kept assisting you.

When you first helped me, you had no idea about my connection to Zack. You didn't have any reason to try to save my life, especially when you despise me so much. But you did it anyway, and you still assist me every day.

As I told you, I am immeasurably in debt to you. You have said that all I need to do in repayment is to recover. I suppose that I could also work more at being kind to you, and at lessening the severity of my approach. There wouldn't be much point in continuing to tell you that I'm an enemy. Now you know that it isn't true.

I'm determined to master this cane. My attempt was going fine earlier, until I somehow managed to entangle the blasted thing with the chair's leg. I must have not been paying complete attention at that point. I won't let it happen again.

It's the following morning now, and you're asleep, so that will give me added resolve to be careful. I don't think either of us wants to discover what will happen if I accidentally wake you.

Throwing back the quilt, I reach for the cane propped against the nightstand. I balance it with my left hand while placing my feet on the floor and being careful not to bump my bound wing. Then I start to push myself up, leaning forward on the crutch.

It's starting to feel more natural again to stand. That's one good thing. And as I proceed to move around the room, it isn't causing my legs to ache as much as it did yesterday. Perhaps I can stay up longer this time.

The door opens when I've completed several laps and am starting another. You look like you're still waking up, blinking as you run a hand through your hair.

"Did I wake you up?" I grunt.

"No," you grumble, crossing your arms. ". . . You're not doing too bad." You lean on the doorframe as you say this, and you still sound as though saying anything positive about me leaves a bad taste in your mouth. You look it, too.

I don't stop, instead continuing to half-limp around the room as I speak. "I'm pleased with my progress."

"Just don't get too pleased and think you can do anything," you say, rolling your eyes as you turn away.

* * *

It's been a peaceful day, for the most part. Now, as it's drawing to a close, I've settled on the porch swing.

It's somewhat strange, to find things so calm in the city. There were so many wars during the time I was in the military---battles against the Heartless, against neighboring countries, even a civil war at one point. And now it's so different. The people are rebuilding everything. They seem content, even happy, but save for those too young to recall the Heartless attacks that all but trounced the city, I have seen lingering sorrow in most's eyes.

They have experienced so much, and yet they still have hope. The Heartless are not eliminated, but they have been beaten back, and I have not seen any in Hollow Bastion during the past months. However, now there is the threat of these dragons. Does that bother the citizens? Do they wonder if their city might be toppled again, or are they determined that this time it will not fall?

. . . Heh. "Their" city. I still live here, and yet I feel so detached from it. It doesn't feel like "my" city anymore.

Does anyone still remember Sephiroth, I wonder---at least, Sephiroth as he once was---the famed warrior, destined to bring victory to the country? I know it perplexes and even bothers them, when they catch a glimpse of me with my wings. No one ever knows what to make of such a phenomenon. Do they fear me? I have ended up with a more negative name for myself, from things you have said that have leaked and that I have not refuted. Every now and then, however, I hear rumors so outlandish that I can't believe anyone would take stock in their contents.

_"Any winged person is really a monster,"_ they say, so I suppose even if they do not subscribe to the idea that I am your darkness, they would loathe me. But they would abhor you as well. Some of them do.

Strange, how we are both outcasts here, to varying degrees.

I'm not alone right now. Even now, I sense eyes peering at me. And it isn't you, spying on me from inside your house. It's someone else, hiding behind that bush at the edge of the yard. I saw it move just now.

"I know you're there. You might as well come out," I say in a flat tone.

At last a small form emerges, still hunched over in suspicion. It's a boy, maybe around ten, and he's wearing a white short-sleeved shirt with blue shorts. I've seen him around the neighborhood at times. He finds you very strange and sometimes tries to follow you here, until you realize he's there and give him a warning look. Right now he doesn't seem willing to volunteer any information as to what his intentions are.

"Didn't your parents teach you it isn't polite to spy on people?" I give him a stern look.

He frowns defensively. "My mom says guys like you aren't people," he retorts. "She says you're some kinda monsters, and that you don't even have spirits!"

Ridiculous, but not unexpected. "I suppose we don't feel pain, either?" Not that I would tell him I am in misery. But surely he's intelligent enough to know that I would not be wearing these bandages and splints and carrying this cane for the fun of it.

"I dunno." He kicks the dirt, then shrugs. "But my dad thinks you guys brought the dragon."

I was almost killed by that dragon, not only to protect myself, but because of some remaining spark of duty to this place and these people. Though I can't imagine why. They have turned their back on me. I don't see why I should do anything for them.

Except, if the dragon had attacked the city, and the military had been called in to destroy it, Zack might have been its victim instead of me. I would have never forgiven myself.

Though in any case, I did not have a choice in whether I battled the beast or not, since it attacked me without provocation.

"Do you know how I got these wounds, boy?"

Another shrug. "I dunno. I don't really care, I guess." But I can see the curiosity in his eyes. Despite what his parents have told him, and no matter how he attempts to act the part of an adult, he is still a child.

"I was eliminating that dragon. If I had brought it here, why would I turn and kill it?"

Now he frowns again, looking confused. But it's gone in the next moment. "You're just trying to trick me, like Mom said you would," he accuses, and runs away down the road.

I lean against the back of the swing. Quite a few here have lost all sight of reason. Maybe the previous destruction of their town and their king's experiments have made them all bitter and suspicious. Not that it isn't understandable, but they shouldn't allow themselves to get carried away.

As I did.

A low whistle brings my gaze upward again. Zack is coming up the walk, glancing to the direction in which the child ran.

"Tough crowd," he says, shaking his head. "The kid there asked if I was coming again to see the 'winged freaks.'" He frowns, reaching the porch and grasping one of the support beams with his right hand as he leans on it. "I just don't like this attitude I'm seeing lately, and especially when they're so young . . . man." He shakes his head. "Me and Cloud wouldn't have ever thought of acting like that, when we were kids. We were taught to respect other people."

"You and Cloud lived in a relatively peaceful Radiant Garden. I remember those times too. But this generation is growing up in a city that was torn apart only a few years ago. The parents, and life itself, drill the distrusting and insolent attitudes into them," I answer. Not that it makes it any less irritating. The children will grow up with the same contempt and impertinence that many of their parents and guardians have gained. Not all of them are that way, but there is a significant number of late---enough to rival both those who seem more hopeful and those who are pessimistic but do not subscribe to blind intolerance.

Zack nods, and from his expression, I can tell he knows I'm right. "Yeah. . . ."

Abruptly he grins and his mood changes. "Boy, it's good to see you up and around, Seph," he declares, walking onto the porch and over to the swing. "I just keep thinking about when you were so sick that you didn't want to move at all." He shudders. "It was awful, to see you like that."

I bring my left wing against my legs so that he can sit down. "Just don't think about it," I advise.

He sinks down next to me. "Kinda hard not to," he replies.

"So, how's Cloud doing?" he asks.

"Cloud is Cloud," I say matter-of-factly.

"Angry at everything?" Zack supplies.

"Or acting like it, wanting to make me think it's for real."

Zack snickers. "Oh well."

I hesitate. "Cloud and I . . . came to a decision last night," I say. Zack deserves to know. Maybe you were planning to tell him yourself, or maybe you had thought we would both tell him, but nothing was said one way or another. And it's too late now to take back what I said, even if I regret it. Which I do, somewhat . . . but that's my pride talking.

Zack blinks, looking curious. "Oh? What was that?" He also looks somewhat apprehensive. Does he wonder if you've decided to throw me out?

"We decided . . . that the ways things have been going is ridiculous. We formed an official truce."

Zack looks stunned for a moment, as if he cannot even grasp this concept. Maybe he can't, after knowing of the intense dislike we've had for each other through the years.

He breaks into an abrupt grin. "That's great!" he cheers, giving me an enthusiastic hug.

I let him, though that may be partially because I'm too surprised to do anything else.

He pulls back after a moment. "What does Cloud think of it?" he asks, calming himself.

"He's willing to try. We both are, but we can't guarantee how it will work."

Zack nods and leans back, letting out a deep breath. "Wow . . . it really makes me happy to hear this, Seph," he says.

"I know."

He clasps his hands behind his head. "So . . . you made it out here all by yourself?" he surmises.

I nod. "With the aid of the cane."

He looks approving. "I was worried that you might decide you didn't need it and you'd try to move around without it," he says.

"I might, if it wasn't that this splint throws me off-balance."

We both glance down to it. The feathers protruding from all angles seem to be growing in somewhat thicker than previously, but I can still feel that the bones are trying to mend themselves. That could take several more weeks to complete.

"How long do you think you might be grounded?" Zack asks, serious now.

"Who knows. Maybe permanently." I don't lift my gaze. "The splint might be able to be removed within another three weeks. Possibly five, to be safe." I lean back, crossing my arms. "Or it could take longer."

"Have you been putting that stuff on it that Merlin left?"

I nod again. Merlin has only returned once since those first days, and when he came back, he only stayed long enough to leave some sort of herbal concoction that he insisted would help my wing to heal normally. And it isn't as if I have any reason not to try it.

"How does he know you, anyway?" Zack blinks at me, his eyes filled with curiosity.

"What makes you think he does?" I answer.

"Oh . . . stuff Cloud's said," he tells me. "And then when I met him, he really did act like you two had met at least once before."

"We have." I gaze off into the distance. "Twice."

"Do I get to know?" Zack watches me, still somber, sensing that this isn't a subject for jest.

I shrug. "The first time was when I was learning how to fly," I say. "That was a short time after the curse was in place." And I never have understood what made him believe he was aware of my identity. I suppose it had something to do with his training. Or he simply has good intuiton, as Zack does.

"The second time was when I returned to Hollow Bastion, after you broke the curse." I look to him. "He approached me and inquired as to how I was doing now. He seemed to remember me from the first encounter. And if he did not see my features as they truly are when he encountered me the first time, it did not seem to faze him that I appeared different the second time."

Zack nods slowly. "He acted like he kinda liked you, when I met him," he announces.

"He does give that impression."

Zack gives me a funny smile. "You don't think he really does?"

"I didn't say that." For some odd reason, he does seem to like me. It's not something I particularly understand, but I've never been able to make much sense of magicians.

". . . The first time we met, he informed me that I am not entirely wicked," I remark. "I didn't believe him. And it didn't help that we were complete strangers to each other. How could he know what I was thinking and feeling, and what my true nature is?"

"And what about now?" Zack asks.

"I still don't know what made him think he could know me so well," I respond flatly.

He smirks, then sobers again. "But what about you? Do you still think you're wicked?" I can see he's hoping that I will say I do not, that I realize I am a good person.

I hesitate before answering. "I don't hate myself as much as I once did, but there are still times when it flares up again."

Zack nods, not seeming surprised. "Guess that's something else you and Cloud have in common," he says. "You both just hate yourselves and you can't forgive yourselves for stuff you've done."

I grunt, not willing to acknowledge that comment.

". . . Hollow Bastion seems so different now."

Zack looks at me, blinking at the change of topic. "You mean compared to . . . ?"

"When we tried to reclaim it after the Heartless took over."

Zack swallows hard. "Yeah," he agrees, his voice catching.

We escaped shortly after the attack, which was ten years ago now---leading the refugees to Traverse Town and other locations willing to take them in. The arrangement went well for the first couple of years, as we planned and tried in vain to reclaim our land from the Heartless, and as our people settled into their new lives---but in the third year word reached us that the refugees in one of the most remote lands were being tortured, even murdered. Their keepers believed that they had been sent to spy because of the host country's ideas about retaking Hollow Bastion for themselves, and information was attempted to be extracted in any way possible. As one of the most treacherous examples, women had their children torn from them and then were abominably violated, while hearing the screams of their children being beaten.

Zack and I, as well as the other military officers, were outraged. That was the beginning of an extensive conflict . . . and of my path into the darkness.

This intense war between the countries extended to Hollow Bastion five years ago, when each army tried to release it from the Heartless. I perished in a battle with our enemies, and even though they won in the end, the Heartless destroyed them when they attempted to claim the land. Then Zack knew that the only choice was to retreat. He saved the men's lives, but abandoned the goal of regaining Hollow Bastion. Until the Keybearer arrived, Hollow Bastion remained a possession of the Heartless.

"Zack . . . it doesn't matter now." I watch him, seeing the sorrow in his eyes. "Hollow Bastion is free again. The people are rebuilding." I pause. "I'm alive."

He nods, trying to smile as he looks over at me. "Yeah. . . ." His smile fades. "And these dragons could rip it all away." A fist clenches. "They tried to take your life. . . ."

"They didn't get me, and they won't get Hollow Bastion." I look to him. There's something he knows . . . something he isn't saying.

". . . The military killed another one out at the Dark Depths today."

It's nothing I wasn't expecting. But it's still frustrating, that apparently there's more than one. And if they are going to be invading the area, it could place Zack in jeopardy. Maybe I'm paranoid, but after my experience, I can't stand the thought of Zack being forced to fight them.

"Does the army have any idea where they're coming from?"

Zack shakes his head. "Nope. . . ." He leans forward, his raven spikes drifting into his face. "Everyone's at a loss."

"Maybe they've been conjured by a dark sorcerer." It's not something I would have actively considered a while ago. Despite knowing of their existence, I spoke of magicians only rarely. Our main enemies were always people who utilized swords, guns . . . tangible weapons, not spells. Wizards were vague and in the background, observing but not actively involved. Or at least, that was as I saw it.

"Wouldn't Merlin know if it was that?" Zack says, watching me again with his lavender eyes.

"Maybe that's why he hasn't been around of late," I answer. It's a possibility, at least.

"Maybe . . . but he didn't seem too worried, if that's the case." Zack sighs, running all of his fingers into his dark hair.

"We'll figure it out."

He sits up straight again, smirking at me. "Hey . . . you're supposed to be the pessimist," he says, poking me on the arm. "You're supposed to talk about impending doom and that kinda stuff."

"And you're supposed to be the optimist," I say immediately, "speaking of how everything will be solved if we work together."

Zack laughs under his breath. "It's nice to hear you be optimistic for a change," he says, "even though it's kinda creepy, too."

"Heh." I don't actually have many positive thoughts about the situation. In my mind, the possibilities return again and again. I can see Hollow Bastion being destroyed again---buildings toppled by bursts of flame or dragon's claws . . . people screaming, running for their lives . . . mothers frantically carrying their children. . . . Zack laying dead, mauled by a beast now sprawled near him, which is also devoid of life. . . .

Zack sobers again, as if he senses my train of thought. "But . . . you're not really that hopeful about things, are you?" he asks, his tone quiet.

"I am . . . concerned," I admit. "Very concerned."

Zack nods, not surprised. "Well . . . let's share our concerns," he says. "And maybe we can find some solutions."

"If there are any."

Zack's smile is somewhat sad now. "That's the Seph I know," he says.

"Old habits are hard to break."

We watch as the sun sets, giving the sky a variety of hues---orange, pink, lavender, red. . . . The red still reminds me of combat . . . blood being spilled. That may be partially because one of the most treacherous battles I've ever participated in happened at sunset. Zack has always bemoaned the fact that I regard so many things in a morbid way, but he has come to accept it.

The lavender, however, reminds me of him.


	10. Perhaps You're Happy

**Notes: Finally, this one is done! It's a fillerish chapter again, but cute and peaceful, with some important things revealed (and going to be revealed). And the ending amuses me.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

You and Zack look like you're having a good time on the porch. I've just stayed in here, watching every now and then, and letting you talk to him.

When it starts getting dark, for some reason I decide to go out and join you and him. The three of us have hung out sometimes in the last weeks, and usually you and I don't say much to each other. We sit around and stare like we're expecting something to go wrong. I'm sure Zack notices.

You told Zack about the truce, didn't you? That's probably when he glomped you. He'll have something to say to me about it later.

I push open the door and walk out.

"Hey!" Zack greets, grinning at me.

I nod in reply, going over to the railing. I lean against it, facing the swing. "You didn't come by yesterday. Are you getting settled into your new place?"

I was glad when I heard Zack would be moving into town again. He's been out on assignment since Hollow Bastion started being built up again, checking out some of the other places and getting them back in order. He says he's back now for good.

"Yep," he chirps. "The furniture was already set up, and the utilities. I just had to get the keys and go in. And that wasn't so hard." He smirks.

"Heh. What did that kid want?"

"Nothing." You answer too quick. "I'm sure you remember him."

I roll my eyes. "The wise guy who always follows me home from the store? Last week he asked me how long I was staying up here from Hell." I flick my wing in emphasis. A lot of people wonder about it, but that's the first time anyone's been so blunt.

Zack frowns. "I don't like to speak bad of someone, especially a kid, but man . . . that sounds like him."

You look annoyed, but keep quiet.

Zack leans back. "So . . . I saw Leon today," he says. "He asked how you're doing."

"Yeah?" I just look at him. "What did you say?"

He smiles. "I said you're doing good. You are, aren't you?"

I shrug. "I guess. Could be worse."

He looks amused. "Same old Cloud."

I actually haven't seen that much of Leon lately. I've been busy taking care of you and visiting Zack, and sometimes trying to catch up on my sleep. Leon's come around a couple times, but he hasn't stayed long. I don't think he knows what to think of you, after the stuff we all thought. Yuffie's in the same boat. But Aerith's adjusted pretty well to the idea that you're not wicked.

"We used to be quite a group, huh?" Zack grins. "You, me, Leon, Aerith, Tifa, even little Yuffie towards the last. . . ."

You cross your arms, just listening now.

"We've grown apart from them now," I answer. "You joined the military, the Heartless attacked, I left. . . ." And we haven't really got together much since then. I've gone a few times to Merlin's place, but it's never really been the same. Maybe part of it's just my own attitude, but also, Leon, Aerith, and Yuffie bonded a lot after they escaped with Cid following the destruction. Nine, ten years together, with Zack only popping in occasionally and me drifting further and further away from them because of my anger, could sure do it.

Heh . . . Leon and I dealt with our helpless feelings over the attack in different ways. He just changed his name and vowed to get stronger. I changed my life and got weaker.

"That's true," Zack says now, his smile turning sad. "But we all still care about each other."

We all sit quietly for a bit.

You start to get up, leaning on your cane. "I'm going back inside," you grunt.

Zack looks up at you. "I could run in and get your coat if you want, Seph," he says. It's a chilly night, so I guess he thinks that's why you're going in. If it is, you'd never say so.

Of course, the coat you were wearing when I found you was just a mess. But when Zack showed up, after your friendship with him came out, he said that you have several black coats. He brought a couple with him, along with some other clothes. It makes sense, that your stuff was with him. You probably don't even have a home of your own, do you? Zack did say that if you're not with me, you're with him.

"You don't need to bother." You limp to the door, open it, and disappear inside.

Zack leans back against the swing. "That Seph, always so stubborn," he smirks, shaking his head in a mock woebegone way.

"He probably just wanted to give us some time to talk," I say flatly.

Zack shrugs. "Could be!" He smiles. "I think he'll be back, though."

He studies me out of the corner of his eye. "So . . . Seph says you and he made a truce last night," he announces.

"I figured that was why you glomped him," I remark. "Just don't expect the impossible, like us becoming friends or some stupid thing like that."

"Oh no," Zack says, smiling in a way that lets me know he thinks he knows exactly what will happen.

I roll my eyes. "I still can't stand the guy," I say, hoping that will end this discussion.

The funny smile doesn't go away. "But you don't hate him?"

"Of course I do," I mutter. "He feels the same about me."

"Maybe," Zack says vaguely.

He moves the swing, relaxing into the motion. "I was thinking," he muses. "When Seph's healed a lot more, and he can get around better, I'll take him back with me to my new place." He smirks at me. "You'd like to get your bed back, wouldn't you?"

I snort. "Oh yeah. I think by now I've finally memorized every place in my couch where the springs are popping out, and every way humanly possible to lay so I don't get stuck with one or more of them."

Zack snickers. "You need to get a new couch, Cloud," he says, his voice mock-scolding now. Then he sobers. "I mean . . . you're here to stay, aren't you?" he asks.

I blink, looking at him. Now I can see the worry and fear in his eyes. He was overjoyed when I moved back, even though he wasn't able at first to be around much. He thought it would be better for me to be back home, with friends. And it has been good.

"I don't have any reason to leave," I tell him.

His shoulders slump in relief. "That's what I thought, but I wanted to make sure."

He frowns a bit. "Hasn't it ever got lonely, living here alone?" he asks.

I shrug. "I'm used to it. I lived alone for years, after I left." And even if it's nice to have someone else in the house, you're not the first guy I'd pick! I'll be relieved to have you move in with Zack again. I'm sure that's what you want, too.

Though I guess it'll be weird, to be alone again after having you around for all this time.

"Of course," Zack breaks into my thoughts, "Seph'll need to stay here for a while yet. I'm not able to be around till the evenings, and he needs someone around all the time, in case something goes wrong."

I nod. "Most people wouldn't even be able to be up already," I say.

"And he probably shouldn't be, either," Zack says ruefully. "But it's a relief that he feels like he can even try."

"Yeah, I guess," I mutter, thinking of last night.

Zack sighs, looking out at the sky as he crosses his arms. ". . . I told Seph that the military killed another dragon today. Looks like there's probably going to be a lot of them."

"Oh great. Just what I wanted." I stretch my wing in annoyance. "The Restoration Committee must be in a dither."

"Yep." Zack leans back further, staring up at the roof of the porch. "When I saw Leon, he asked if you'd help out."

I shrug. "Do I have a choice? I don't really want to get run out of house and home by those things."

Zack snickers. "Didn't think you would." He keeps looking at the roof, but I don't think he's really seeing it. He's too lost in thought.

"I didn't want to mention that Leon wondered if Seph would help, too, when he's feeling better," he says now, his voice quieting more. "Seph probably will, you know. But I don't want to put those ideas into his head already. He needs to just think about getting better."

"He's probably already been thinking about fighting the dragons," I point out. "There's all kinds of stuff going on in his head that he never talks about."

Zack smirks. "True."

"But would he even want to help in the first place?" I frown. "He's never acted like he really cares much what goes on in town."

"He helped during the Heartless attack, didn't he?" Zack reminds me.

"Yeah. . . ." One time I was even surrounded by the stupid things, and you showed up and destroyed them. Of course, then you started telling me that I couldn't ever let go of the past, that I couldn't stand the light of the present, blah blah. And you just had to be right. You like being right, don't you?

"Seph was really devoted to helping the people here when he was in the military," Zack says. "And he's never forgotten that." He smiles sadly. "Even though they've mostly forgotten him."

"That's not surprising," I grumble. "Since he left the military, whether he wanted to or not, and has been walking around saying he's my darkness."

Zack just sighs.

The door opens again and Zack and I both look up. You're limping out again, just as Zack thought you would. And you're wearing your coat. Heh. Maybe Zack was right.

"Hey again," Zack grins, as you come over and sink onto the swing.

You nod to him, leaning back against it.

"The sink is getting clogged," you announce.

Wonderful. One thing I hate about this house is the plumbing. Something's always getting clogged or stopped up. I think it's because of the roots of the box elder tree in the backyard.

"I'll have to fix it," I mutter.

Zack stretches, placing his hands at the back of his head. "You know, there's some houses for sale out by the base," he says. "And some old places still abandoned from the Heartless attack. They need some work, but they could be turned into pretty nice homes."

"Yeah. It's annoying enough to work on this place," I say. "I'm not interested in getting some rat trap."

"You probably can't afford a better location than this," you say. "Wasn't this your father's home?"

I give you a Look. How do you know that? . . . Oh, nevermind.

"Yeah, it is," I mumble. My father died in the Heartless attack, not that I was on good terms with him. I've always blamed him for the divorce with Mom. But Mom's place was destroyed, and when I came back and found my father's home still standing, I decided to move in. Hey, it was free, after all.

Zack nods. "Guess you never know if you'd be getting something worse than this," he agrees. "But some of the homes aren't too bad. So if you ever want to just check them out. . . ." He shrugs, then grins. "It'd be great to have you living closer!"

"I'll probably have a look," I say. That would be nice. This neighborhood sure hasn't endeared itself to me. And no one lives here that I know . . . or want to know.

"I'll find a couple of the best ones tomorrow and come tell you," he promises.

"Okay. Thanks."

We just sit here for a while longer, in peace---more or less.

* * *

Zack ended up staying for dinner. It was a good meal---Zack made it himself. It was civil, too, which is always a relief. You're well enough to sit up to the table now, and tonight you and I didn't start arguing. Mostly we didn't say anything, and just ate. Any conversations were started by Zack, which is usual, and you and I just responded to them.

I guess it's been a pretty good day overall. Just calm, without any clashes. Yet, anyway. It could still happen. A couple of times, around when Zack first came here, we managed to keep things calm until he left . . . and then all Hell broke loose. He could probably hear the yelling all the way back at the base.

It's late now. Zack's going to his house, and you're limping to the bedroom to sleep. Time for me to get reacquainted with the springs.

"Good night."

You're saying . . . what? "Huh?!" Then it sinks in. "Oh. Night."

I yawn, slumping into the couch. You're always unpredictable. But I'm too tired to think much about it.

* * *

I don't even remember falling asleep. But it feels like eyes are staring at me. Did you wake up and come in? I don't know why you'd be just standing here watching me sleep.

I hope it's not a rat.

I force my eyes open. The sun's coming in, stinging my eyes. It's morning already? I thought I just laid down.

"Oh! Good morning, Cloud. I didn't wake you, I hope."

That could only be one guy. "Merlin?" I blink, reaching up a hand to shield my eyes from the glare. Merlin's walking over to the couch now, looking as calm and easy-going as if he hasn't been gone for weeks. Just like him. "Where have you been?!"

Merlin stops, putting his hands behind his back as he watches me. "I just had something I needed to take care of," he says. "And now it's done, so I've returned."

Well, that was informative. And now he's taking it upon himself to sit down on a chair without being invited.

"Now, how have you been doing, Cloud?" His tone is friendly enough, but there's some kind of undertone to it, like he's . . . maybe looking for something, some kind of response or reaction from me. But I don't know what.

"As good as I could be, with Sephiroth in the house," I say, making sure to sound disdainful.

Merlin looks amused. "You don't seem to look any the worse for wear," he comments. "Well . . . save for your probable aching back." He looks at a big spring sticking up out of the cushion.

I roll my eyes, moving as far away from the thing as possible. "Sephiroth's just lucky I haven't killed him."

Merlin just looks even more amused. "I think we both know that hasn't been your intention. You sound more like you're trying to convince me that it is, rather than that you believe it yourself." He nods to himself, looking pleased about something. "You don't seem hostile about him anymore."

I sit up. "He's Zack's friend," I grumble. "I can't be hostile to a friend of his. But that doesn't mean I like the guy."

"No, it doesn't," Merlin agrees.

"So, did you come to check on him?" I ask.

Merlin nods. "I did. I have some information for him that I do believe he'll be interested in hearing."

I don't like how he said that. "I don't get to know what it is, do I?" I frown.

He just smiles funny. "Oh . . . perhaps. If Sephiroth wants to tell you, then I imagine he will do so."

I snort. "That won't ever happen."

He leans back, a twinkle in his eye. "We'll see," he says.

Now he gets up. "I'm going to go speak with him now," he announces. "Meanwhile, I've left some of my helpers in the kitchen. They're making breakfast." He adjusts his glasses, heading for the bedroom.

"Uh . . . okay." I just watch him for a moment. Then it suddenly registers what he said.

. . . Aren't his helpers brooms with arms? Do I even dare look?

I push myself off the couch, shuffling to the kitchen doorway. One broom is at the stove, heating up some eggs. Another one is slicing some bacon. And a third is squeezing oranges.

Sometimes my curiosity really gets the best of me.


	11. Nothing You Can Do

**Chapter Eleven**

I am awake when the door opens. I look up, turning my head slightly towards the doorway. I am expecting to see you, but instead it's Merlin who is here. This is surprising. And an odd coincidence, when Zack and I were just speaking of him yesterday. Of course, knowing him, I wonder if it's a coincidence at all.

"Good morning, Sephiroth," he greets.

I give a slow nod, watching him questioningly. He never goes anywhere without a reason. He would not come here for the sole purpose of socialization.

"You're looking quite well," he observes. "Awake and alert . . . much better than when I saw you last."

"The last time you saw me, I was more than half dead," I grunt. It was you and Zack who spoke with him when he came briefly to leave the herbal substance. I was sleeping then, though at least, not still half dead.

Merlin nods. "You're lucky to be alive," he says.

"If it can be called being 'alive.'" I'm not certain how to refer to my state. Yes, I am breathing. My heart is beating. Technically, I am alive. But I am not free to do whatever I like. I am bound to you. Sometimes I feel as though I'm on probation. And such a thing would not surprise me in the least.

Another nod. "Tell me, Sephiroth," he muses, sitting in the chair, "why do you think this was allowed to happen to you?"

If this was anyone other than Zack, or Merlin, I doubt I would even answer. Merlin seems to consider himself my mentor. I don't know that I share this viewpoint. But he has always seen deeper into my soul than I would like. It would be pointless to refuse to answer---though if I was still as bitter as I was when Merlin first stumbled across me, I definitely would have done so.

"Because my superiors couldn't care less what happens to me." My response is instantaneous.

Merlin doesn't seem surprised by this. "Do you feel that you have learned or gained anything of importance from this experience? Don't try to rush your answer," he adds, holding up a finger in emphasis. He watches me calmly, and through his thick beard I can see the trace of a smile.

I don't find anything to smile about.

This does require thought. This escapade has been long and painful. And it is possible that scars, both physical and mental, will linger. These wounds may never fully heal, and I may never fly again. But . . . you and I have come to be able to understand each other better. Is that the sort of response Merlin wants from me?

"Cloud and I no longer desire to kill each other." This is said with heavy sarcasm. I never wanted to kill you, though I have strongly disliked you.

Merlin looks amused. "It's unlikely the two of you could have learned to tolerate each other without going through an experience such as this," he says, sobering again.

I don't like where this is going. "Are you saying my superiors arranged for this to happen to me because I wasn't doing a good enough job to suit them? And because they wanted Cloud and I to bond?" That seems like such an extreme way to bring about what they want. Though, considering their methods of punishment, I wonder if it is extreme for them at all.

He quickly shakes his head. "No! Not at all." He looks at me in all seriousness. "This was not planned, Sephiroth. They did not sit around wondering what they could do to you and deciding on the very most horrible possibility. And, I know it's hard for you to believe, but they do care about you. They want what's best for you, even if it doesn't seem at the time that it could ever be the best thing.

"When this happened to you, they stepped back and allowed you to choose whether you lived or died. They wanted to see if you would still opt to live, despite how unhappy you are over being bound to Cloud. And they were hoping that what has happened would occur, that Cloud would take you in and help you to recover. They knew the experience would be worthwhile for both of you."

Worthwhile? I don't know about that. Even if there is some value to it, I still abhor being incapacitated in any way.

"In some ways, you really haven't changed much, Sephiroth."

I look back to him. "How do you mean?" Do I even want to know? Merlin's insight has always annoyed me, and still does, despite the fact that I have tried to accept that quirk. Even Zack's deductions about myself irritated me, before we bonded.

"You still don't like it when you can't do everything yourself."

"I doubt most people enjoy having to be assisted on the least and most mundane tasks."

"That's true . . . but I've rarely seen a man as stubborn and determined as you---almost as if you feel that it's a crime to need help."

That might be true to an extent, but it isn't Merlin's business---or anyone's. Except possibly Zack's.

"Is such an attitude a crime?" I say now.

"No," replies Merlin, "but it may make things more difficult for you and those who want to help you."

"I haven't rejected their help."

"True, but your feelings on being assisted might discourage them."

"Maybe they don't want to help me any more than I want to accept it."

Merlin nods thoughtfully. "You're speaking of Cloud."

I don't answer. It's true that you helped me grudgingly at first. But I've noticed a change in you. You seem more willing to give help, in general, and less likely to act as though it's a burden. Still, I suppose I have changed as well. I have learned to be grateful for what you do. You, like Zack, understand my feelings on assistance, and you allow me to attempt things myself whenever possible. You only step in when I cannot succeed on my own.

"Cloud is gaining maturity," Merlin says. "This has been good for him, to have the responsibility of caring for you. One of the things that has always tortured him is a feeling of helplessness, that he can never do anything worthwhile."

I respond with a grim smirk. "And he would find it worthwhile to nurse an old enemy back to health?"

Merlin smiles. "I believe he has come to find it so." He pauses. "And I believe you will fly again, Sephiroth. Maybe not as effortlessly as you once did, but your determination will likely take you into the sky once more."

"Not even my determination can alter what is, if my wings are not capable of carrying me."

Now he looks amused. "Such a pessimist," he scolds, as he did upon our original meeting.

"To be a pessimist is only realistic."

Merlin nods. "I know I said just now that in some ways you haven't changed much, Sephiroth, but in other ways you most certainly have. You don't bear the immense bitterness that you did upon our first meeting, though I noticed it had lessened the second time we spoke, as well. I believe you have started to find yourself again. And that is very encouraging."

I just smirk. "And this 'finding myself'. . . . You believe I'm going to see myself as the noble figure you have painted me as being?"

"Maybe someday," Merlin nods in thoughtfulness. "Maybe someday."

I doubt it.

You come to the doorway. "Breakfast is ready," you announce gruffly, and then look to Merlin. "Are you planning to stay?"

He shakes his head, which doesn't surprise me. "I'm afraid I can't," he says. "I have other matters I must tend to." He gets up and heads for the door. "But I do wish you both well! I expect we will be seeing each other quite soon." And with that, he teleports out, seeming pleased with the situation here.

You mutter something under your breath, turning to walk away from the door.

Taking up my cane, I begin to ease my body off of the mattress. My lower right wing still feels as though it is being held down by an immense weight. I hold it close to me, not wanting it to catch on the infamous chair. Now I move forward, using the cane for support as I make my way out of the room.

You are now standing in the doorway of the kitchen, your arms crossed on your chest. Beyond you, food is dished on the table. It looks and smells expertly prepared, which alerts me that you were not involved with its creation. The extent of your culinary skills is heating food in a microwave. Sometimes you even fail with that task, if you're not watching it closely enough.

"Did Merlin make breakfast?" I ask.

You shake your head. "Brooms," you mumble, going into the room.

There honestly isn't anything to say to that.

I follow you in, sinking into the nearest chair.

You pour a glass of orange juice. "Merlin said he came to tell you something," you say, your tone gruff.

"He didn't come for idle conversation," I answer. Picking up the fork, I test some of the scrambled eggs. Considering that they were cooked by bewitched household cleaning items, they don't taste that bad.

You grunt. "He didn't want to tell me what it was."

"Should you know?" I reply.

You drink some of the beverage, much quicker than is safe. An immediate round of coughing follows, as I give you a deadpan gaze.

"That wasn't your most intelligent moment," I comment.

You roll your eyes at me. "He said that if you wanted to tell me, you would," you say, once you have control of yourself.

"And why would you want to know, Cloud?" I resume eating. "Curiosity?"

You become interested in your food. "I don't know," you grumble. "I just . . . I hate being kept in the dark. But I know, I know---_patience._ I have to have _patience_." Every time you say "patience", you spit it out as if it is spoiled.

I lean back, regarding you as I muse. I suppose I could tell you something of it, without revealing my secrets. I have a morbid interest in knowing how you would react. And it could be amusing, to tease you again. I know you won't well accept any of what Merlin had to say.

"Merlin believes," I announce slowly and with deliberation, "that this was allowed to happen to me in order for us to bond."

You almost choke again, which really doesn't do much for you as far as looking intelligent is concerned. "That's . . . _that's _. . ." You grab the glass of orange juice and gulp its contents in order to push down the lodged food---and possibly to keep from saying the full extent of your feelings on the matter.

I regard you in some amusement. "It isn't what I was expecting to be told, either," I say, "and I don't know that I believe it."

"It's typical of Merlin," you grumble. You shake your head, reaching for the catsup.

I don't bother to ask why you're putting catsup on scrambled eggs.

The meal proceeds in silence for a time. It's a fairly calm quiet, devoid of tension. It's a relief, especially considering the first meals we shared. There was more screaming than eating. I wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors grew used to it and now wonder if we finally killed each other, hence the recent noiselessness.

"I've been hearing that the military thinks you're a fraud."

I raise an eyebrow, looking to you and wondering where you're going with this. "Hearing it?" I repeat. "From whom?"

You shrug. "People in town. Is it because of your wings?"

I lean back, an amused smirk coming over my features. You're always trying some new tactic to gain information about me. "Partially," I admit. It's fine to say that much, but to tell you of my death is forbidden. Even if I wanted to say it, I'm not anxious to find out what would happen to me if I did.

"And there's the stuff Zack said, that you disappeared for a while."

"That's true. Against my will."

You stop mid-chew, giving me a scrutinizing look. ". . . So you were held prisoner or something, like by the other army?"

"Or something," I agree.

You scowl.

"Honestly, Cloud . . . you wouldn't want me to get in trouble, would you?" I ask, still with the amused smirk.

"Zack knows," you point out. "You didn't have any qualms about telling him. And how would they even know you told? It's not like my place is bugged."

"Oh, trust me, they would know. They know I told Zack. They just chose to not take action against me that time."

"They must be psychics," you say in sarcasm.

"You could say that."

I suppose there might not be a problem if you guessed the truth yourself, rather than me telling you, but you certainly don't seem to ever entertain the thought. When I think about it, it's one of the only standing possibilities, and it makes a lot of sense where the military's suspicions are concerned. But you would never guess such a thing, would you? You would never imagine that someone would return from the dead. It is unheard of, in general.

Yet I have done exactly that. Twice, now. And you were a witness to the latter occasion.

"Sephiroth . . ." You sound hesitant, which is rare for you. When I turn to look at you, you've grown serious.

"What was it like, to die?"

Now that is a strange thing to ask, in light of my current musings. I raise an eyebrow at you. "Excuse me?"

You move the eggs around with your fork. ". . . Merlin said you were alive, but you looked dead," you elaborate. "Your heart wasn't beating, and you weren't breathing. Did you . . . know what was going on when we were trying to help you, or was it just like you were in a deep sleep?"

I lean back. So that's what you're referring to. It's still strange, at this point, but maybe not so surprising.

"I wasn't aware that I was being helped," I answer. "But I wasn't asleep, either. My spirit went to an in-between place."

You frown, turning this over in your mind. "Like between Heaven and Hell?"

"More like between life and death." I slowly eat a piece of the bacon. "Why do you want to know?"

A shrug. "I never talked to anyone who died. I just kinda wondered what it's like, if there's anything after this or what." You shove some of the egg into your mouth.

"There's definitely an afterlife. Though it may be different from what is traditionally taught."

You're silent now. "You didn't . . . see anyone who'd died, did you?"

I regard you in slight amusement. "Were you expecting, or even hoping, that I had?"

Another shrug. "Zack's mom died when he was just a kid. They were always really close."

"If I had seen her, that would be something I would tell Zack," I say in a matter-of-fact tone.

You roll your eyes, glaring down at your plate.

Is there something more to it than that? It could just be that you're wanting to know anything that possibly concerns myself or Zack, as usual, but maybe that isn't all that's on your mind. Maybe you don't want to say your deeper thoughts.

". . . Do you wonder if I saw someone that you lost, Cloud?"

You stiffen. "My mom," you admit at last, lifting your gaze to meet mine. "And I'd like to know what happened to my dad, too---if he would've gone to Hell." There is a lot of loathing in your eyes, but it isn't directed at me, for once. More than that, however, there's pain. Your father hurt you deeply.

I don't know all the details of that, but Zack told me that the man was an alcoholic and a gambler. He said that at times your father flew into drunken rages and beat your mother. Then Zack fell silent, sick horror in his eyes. I asked him if you had been beaten as well. He didn't respond for a long moment, but then he admitted that it was true. He wouldn't have told me at all, except that he was worried about you, and when I was first assigned to you, I needed to know as much about you as I could.

"I couldn't tell you that," I say now. "I didn't see either of them, or anyone else who has died." I look at you with soberness. "But there are many kinds of Hells, Cloud, not only one with fire and brimstone."

You frown in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I shake my head. "Nevermind."

It somewhat isn't a surprise that, now that we have worked ourselves into depressed states of mind, a cheerful cry breaks into our thoughts.

"Ho! The door's unlocked again!"

We both look up at Zack, who is making his way to the kitchen doorway. He gives us a mock stern look.

"So, what's all this gloom at the breakfast table?" he demands. "Thought I heard something being said about Hell."

"You did," I supply.

"Well, that's a great topic for this early in the day!" Zack crosses his arms. "Let's talk about something else."

"Help yourself," you say. "Get some food while you're at it."

"I will!" Zack chirps. "Smells good!" And he gives you a puzzled look. "Was Aerith by or something? You couldn't have whipped up something like this."

"It was brooms," we reply in unison.

Zack blinks, actually looking surprised. He stares at the food again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well . . ." he says slowly, "that's different."

You snort. "That's one way to put it."


End file.
